


Kisses in the Dark

by evilleaper



Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-14 23:25:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1282582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilleaper/pseuds/evilleaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam leaps home, but can he cope with the life he has created for himself or those around him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Bellisario and Universal own the Quantum Leap characters, not me. I am just borrowing them for the purpose of telling this story. 
> 
> This story is strictly alternate universe and does not fit in with any of my other works of fiction. It is told from various points of view, including, but not limited to Sam, Al and Verbena. It should also be noted that this story is a work in progress (WIP) it contains Australian spelling and is unbetaed. If you find a typo, missing words or a spelling mistake please feel free to point it out to me.

**Stallions Gate, New Mexico - 2000  
Verbena**

It was late when the initial alarm sounded, well past what was considered business hours here and only chance that I was the first to make my way to the waiting room. Still, as I stood in the doorway, unsure to begin with, of what or of whom I was facing, I thanked God there was actually someone there at all.

The waiting room had been empty for a little over a month and half; completely dissolute aside from the steel table that had in the many years prior to his disappearance, held Doctor Sam Beckett's prone body. Now however, the room again radiated with life – with hope, I thought wistfully, trying to slow my racing heart.  


Sensors that to the untrained eye appeared as no more than pieces of ultra-modern art protruding from the otherwise stark walls glowed and hummed a healthy rhythm, reassuring me that our newest visitor was for the time being at least, in no distress. That of course could change and I stepped forward, readying myself for the moment when full awareness settled in.  


Keeping one eye on my new patient and the other on the sensors, I moved with more than my usual caution. I could already hear a growing commotion coming from somewhere behind me and I ran a mental check of those who I knew were still on site as I drew closer to the table.  


The individual, who like all the others that had visited us over the years, was clad in Sam’s fermi-suit and although they were currently facing away from me I knew instinctively that they were the spitting image of the man himself, right down to his fingerprints and the retina’s in his eyes. They groaned and moved restlessly as I approached, obviously disturbed by the sounds emanating from the outer corridor and the uncomfortable position they had found themselves in.  


Clearly, full consciousness was not far off and as the voices behind me fell silent at the very moment the sensors began, a more complex and less reassuring rhythm, I realised it was time I announced my presence.  


Taking the final step forward I kept my tone as calm and clear as I was able to under the circumstances.  


"You are perfectly safe. Just try and stay calm." I soothed gently, and then watched as the familiar frame of my friend stretched and hands that had originally been held close to the body reached out, seeking purchase on the table beneath them.  


I had not seen Sam, or even anyone who wore his distinctive persona for some weeks but as the visitor twisted awkwardly towards me, using their newly freed hands for leverage, I was astonished to see the changes that had taken place during that time.  


In all the years since Sam stepped into the accelerator chamber the passage of time seemed to have had little or no effect on his handsome features. The white lock of hair that had appeared sometime after he had entered the chamber and Al finding what we had first thought was his lifeless body, had remained but there had been none of usual signs of aging. It was almost as if wherever Sam was he occupied a place outside of regular time. That seemed to have changed however. The familiar face, strong jaw and gentle green eyes all bore the tell-tale signs of someone who had not rested in days, perhaps weeks and who had aged beyond their years.  


It was difficult not to stare at the unshaven face before me, or not to notice the hair that was now almost entirely grey compared with the tawny blond it had been only a few weeks ago. Or even to remember that this person had no idea that they were now a part of top secret project, that to quote the Admiral had gone a little ca ca, and they needed to be treated with the utmost care, not gawked at as if they were exhibits in a zoo.  
Just how I must appear right now, coupled with the slow, measured approach of high heels on the concert-covered floor was enough to remind me of why I was here.  


Swallowing over the small lump that had risen in my throat I managed to take care of what was necessary at this point and introduce myself. "My name is Doctor Beeks," I say calmly, turning slightly to see who had joined me before I continued. "And this is Doctor Fuller."  


For obvious reasons I was relieved that it was Sammi-Jo and not Donna, though I knew it wouldn’t be long before Sam’s wife arrived. Ziggy would have informed her, along with Al, the second the sensors had registered our guest. I couldn’t think about Donna or how she might react however, like everything else that had happened since Sam disappeared we would deal with it. For now we had our silent guest to contend with and helping them was what I needed to focus on.  


Re-gathering the threads of my composure I stood quietly as Sammi-Jo gave our visitor one of her patented smiles, but like myself she only receives the slightest glimmer of recognition for her efforts. It wasn't an unusual response and we both knew it. The majority of the souls who had found their way here over the years usually experienced an understandable period of disorientation. Once we dealt with the introductions and assured them that they were safe, they were usually happy to cooperate for the duration of their visit. This wasn't any different to any of the other leaps I told myself -- certain that now I had given myself a moment to adjust to Sam’s changed appearance there was very little else that would surprise me.  


Offering a small and what I hoped was a reassuring smile of my own; I ask the first of my many questions.  


"Can you tell me your name?"  


Together with Sammi-Jo I wait expectantly while the visitor seems to consider my question, watching as the familiar brow furrows noticeably from the effort that it appears to warrant, and then as the moments begin to stretch I reach out, attempting to offer support when no answer is forthcoming.  


Sensing I believe that it would be easier on our guest to have only one person conducting the preliminary evaluation Sammi-Jo moves quietly away as soon as it becomes clear to both of us that there will be no immediate response to my inquiry.  


It is not entirely necessary that we have a name though on the few occasions that it hasn't been possible to obtain one from the visitor themselves, Ziggy's capabilities have been stretched to capacity. There is only so much information kept on the various databases and time is always an issue to consider. The fact that our guest arrived showing no obvious signs of distress was a good indicator that Sam was safe for the moment, but as his situation was still unknown we did not know how long he would stay that way.  


We needed information and we needed it as soon as was humanly possible.  


My hand remains poised on the stranger's forearm as their troubled eyes search first my own and then, apparently finding no answers there they peer past me to the door that I knew was crowded with on lookers.  


"It's okay. No one here is going to hurt you," I assure them. "We're all just very pleased to see you."  


I smile again. I was not sure who else had come to see what was going on but I doubted that even with Sam's changed appearance there wasn’t anything other than relief showing on the faces behind me. For the last few weeks the Project has simply tried to continue on as if everything was business as usual but no one, least of all myself had believed that with Sam missing that we could go on that way indefinitely.  


Squeezing the strong bicep beneath my hand I add. “Can you sit up?”  


Thankfully this question doesn’t require as much thought as my previous one and with some slow rearrangement of Sam’s long limbs they sit up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See part one for disclaimer. No warnings for this chapter.

**_Sam_ **

I’ve had some rough arrivals over the years. Leaping around in time and never knowing when or where I am going to end up has meant that I have had to learn to be prepared for almost anything and pretty much roll with the punches. Of course the latter only works when you actually see the blows coming and I am definitely beginning to think that I have missed something. To start with my head feels like I’ve gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson and not surprisingly, come off second best. Honestly, I feel I like I’ve been hit by a bus. Everything hurts and I groan aloud, unable to escape the pain racking my body. 

Over the pounding in my head I can hear the faint, rhythmic sounds of monitors and through the fog still clouding my consciousness I also register lights flickering and changing colour nearby. It occurs to me that I’ve been in an accident and that would explain the table I am currently lying on and the voices I hear gathering around me. 

Ignoring everything I have been taught in regards to sustaining an unspecified injury I twist and stretch, my hands slipping repeatedly against the smooth surface beneath them, trying with only minimal success to gain purchase and enough leverage to roll over. Momentum plays a small part, but the change in position is too painful and I only manage to turn on my side before my body protests; refusing further cooperation and effectively rendering me breathless. I am still disorientated, my vision distorted beyond anything I have experienced leaping in before and I rest for a moment just trying to get my bearings. Closing my eyes and then opening them again I attempt to focus, but it doesn’t make a lot of difference because everything is still fuzzy and slightly off centre.

The voices seem closer now, one in particular asking me questions, assuring me that I am safe. I look up, once again trying to make sense of what or who I am seeing, but it’s all a blur. The hand on my arm is firm however, encouraging and I accept the help offered to rearrange myself.

It’s a mistake. The room tilts and my head spins as I am assisted to sit up, bile rising. I don’t remember when I last ate but it is clearly unimportant. My stomach churns and I retch before I can provide a warning to those around me. My body convulsing of its own accord and it is only the quick reflexes of the woman standing beside me that stops me from toppling forward. By the time it’s over and the nausea recedes I am completely wiped out - too physically drained to even be embarrassed. 

There is a small flurry of activity around me. Much of which occurs without me paying it any real notice. Individuals come and go. I am given water, my chin carefully supported while I take cautious sips to reduce the residual aftertaste in my mouth and to cool my throat. The mess I have created is dealt with quickly and efficiently. A small maintenance team working in complete silence leaves behind a ‘caution wet floor’ sign as the only evidence that they had been here at all. My head still hurts but the other pain has receded to a dull ache and I watch their departure with interest, my attention shifting as I am finally able to take in my surroundings.

Stark boundless walls that suggested either a research or medical facility surround me on all sides. Sparse contemporary furnishings. Well furniture piece, considering that the table I am sitting on is the only item in the room. I glance down at myself and for the first time since my arrival I realise what I am wearing. My vision coming and out of focus again at the sight of my Fermi suit and very slowly I lift my gaze, not quite believing where I am or who it is that has been trying to help me. My heart rises in my chest, choking me temporarily and my eyes gradually filling with tears as reality takes hold.

“Verbena?”

The unwavering professionalism that I have always associated with her is replaced briefly with surprise. “Do we know one another?” she inquires. 

I am still trying to accept that I am finally home and I swallow hard. “It’s Sam, Verbena. Sam Beckett.” Watching her closely I see surprise then replaced with concern and something I don’t quite catch as the wall in front of us slides open and Al appears. 

Smiling through my tears as he steps forward I force out the first words that come to mind. “Oh boy!”

My favourite catchphrase is not lost on either Al or Verbena, but after I am not sure how many years it becomes obvious that neither is willing to give it too much attention. Al seems to be more focused on my appearance, his usually confident stride becoming less so the closer he gets to the table. He tries to smile as he approaches, both at myself and the women to my right, doing his best I imagine to put me at ease, but it is clear that something about how I look has caught him off guard. He stops within a couple of feet. He’s not exactly staring, but he is studying me. 

I am not sure what it means, except I do recall Al telling me that the person in the waiting room looked exactly like me and that is why I appeared as my host to everyone else. Frankly I am too relieved to see him to give it anything more than a passing thought. 

For his part Al is dressed in his own flamboyant style of brightly coloured jacket and matching fedora. An unlit cigar held loosely between the first and middle fingers of his right hand completes the familiar picture. He looks good, tired, but bearing in mind the hours he keeps, he appears just as his usually does -- a welcome sight for very sore eyes. I give him one of my best smiles, my tears drying on my face, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Hi,” he says, “I’m Al.” Then without waiting for a reply looks to Verbena for support, or perhaps a name. 

“This is Sam, Al. Sam Beckett,” she supplies, watching our exchange.

There is a spark of something that may be recognition. It’s hard to say. I can see Al turn the information over in his mind, weighing the possibilities of meeting two men with the same name and then just as quickly discounting it as no more than a coincidence. I can’t help feel a little disappointed, but it wasn’t that unusual I guess. Not including the Irish poet there were probably multiple Sam or Samuel Beckett’s dotted across the globe, not to mention the ones living in the United States at any given time. 

“Okay, so where are you from Sam?”

The handlink is drawn from his jacket pocket and information entered into the small device.

“It’s me Al, Sam,” I reply, smiling at him once more. My heart is so full I feel like it’s going to burst. Just seeing him and being here was literally my dream come true. He nods in return, but is completely oblivious. 

I feel myself choking up again. My chest tight and my mind full of the things I want to say. All I want is to slip off the table and wrap my arms around him, it’s been so long that I can barely remember what it felt like to hold him. There would be certain protocols when it came to dealing with anyone in the waiting room though and as much as I wanted him to just accept it is me I know there will be no avoiding his questions. 

He is all business now and for a moment I consider what I should tell him. I swallow again, trying to calm some of the emotion coiling inside of me as I formulate my answer.

“I’m originally from Indiana,” I begin slowly, “but I moved to Massachusetts when I went to MIT and then after I graduated it was wherever the funding was available, during the early nineties my partner and I moved to New Mexico to work on a time travel experiment funded by the Government.”

“Al blinks a couple of times in quick succession as he tries to comprehend what he has been told. “What did you say?”

I smile again, I am still unsteady, but I ease myself off the table. My legs feel like they are made of jello and I am grateful for the hand Verbena offers me and the gentle reminder to take it easy as I lean against the table top for support. 

“I said, that my name is Doctor Sam Beckett and this is Project Quantum Leap, our project Al.”

He has never been one to take anything on face value. He shakes his head, glancing at Verbena and then back at me, his eyes narrowing. “Never heard of it.”

For all the years we planned and dreamed together the name of our project was one of the few things that remained confidential. The funding body knew it of course, but no one without the top secret clearance necessary to work alongside me had ever heard the title mentioned aloud or seen it written down. That Al continued to protect my work after all the years that have passed since we first broke ground many levels above where we both stand fills me with a sense of longing that I don’t have the words to describe -- reminding me of how much I love him, have always loved him. 

I am finally home and all I needed was for him to understand that. The how and why could be dealt with later.

Testing the strength of my legs I let go of the hold I have on the table. I know what I need to say now to convince him and I take a careful step towards where he is standing. “That’s not completely true, is it Al?”

It’s clearly not the response he was expecting. His suspicious nature is on full alert. The handlink falls forgotten as the hand gripping it drops to his side, the furrow between his brows drawn tight, emphasizing the level of concentration required to hold his temper in check. “Look pal I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he tells me in no uncertain terms. 

“But you do,” I counter, truly wishing I felt stronger.

Al could be downright intimidating when he wanted to be. It’s not an act. His bark is just as frightening as his bight and it was best I have learnt, not to tempt either unnecessarily. Unfortunately some things couldn’t be avoided.

I take a deep breath and another small step forward. “I understand that this is what you and Verbena do when someone arrives in the waiting room, you ask questions, but it’s not necessary.”

I glance back over my shoulder at the woman still standing quietly behind me and offer her what I hope is an apologetic smile before turning back to Al. “You know my name,” I tell him. “And a great deal more about me. More than most people in fact. There are dozens of photographs of us standing side by side, news articles dating back a decade or more that tie us together in one way or another. Professionally of course, we’ve needed to be careful, but no one questions two old friends being seen together in public or even taking time out of their busy schedules to meet up every other Friday for dinner.”

I pause, feeling increasingly unstable on my legs as I search his face for a sign of acknowledgement, anything to tell me that I am getting through to him. “You remember the place,” I prompt. “It’s out along the interstate, there’s a motor inn attached to it and we all stayed there at one time or another while the project was being built.” 

I let the words hang between us. There are other things I could say, personal things that I know he would not appreciate me revealing in front of Verbena. She’s a friend but Al has never been overly comfortable about discussing our relationship with anyone. The navy still frowned on same sex relationships and we both knew he would lose a lot more than just his pension if it became public knowledge that we were involved. 

Al is quiet, no doubt trying to decide if anything I have said holds merit or not. He appears more bemused than angry. His eyes have softened certainly, but it is almost if he is still expecting some kind of punch line because maybe the idea of having me home is just too good to be true. 

My heart goes out to him, but the ball is in his court now. He would either choose to believe me or we would continue with his questions until he did.

Thankfully it’s Verbena who breaks the almost oppressive silence steadily enveloping the room. 

“Al,” she interrupts gently, stepping forward to stand beside me. “There are tests we could run.” It’s not a question.

He shakes his head and then pulls his gaze away from me to address her. “No, there aren’t, not really.” 

It’s difficult to say whether it is apprehension I hear underlying Al’s words or something else. He is still suspicious that much is clear and it occurs to me that perhaps if its fear, but that doesn’t make sense. I don’t understand. Why would he be afraid?

I am suddenly reminded of what I had thought when he came in, that there was something about the way I looked. I glance down at myself and then raise my right hand to examine it. Readjusting the distance to focus better I note the obvious signs of aging that I can’t recall noticing before, but other than also realising that my nails definitely need cutting I cannot tell if there is anything different. Something coils inside of me, my confidence and certainty wavering as I lift my hand to touch my face. There is very little to be revealed by myself examination though. I needed to shave and may have lost some weight, but that didn’t explain Al’s earlier reaction or why I would feel that he was afraid. I let the thought go for the time being, dropping my hand to my side I return my attention to those around me. 

Verbena and Al are still regarding one another, she at least seems more open to the possibility that I’m who I say I am. 

“I didn’t mean the usual medical tests used to establish identity,” she explains. “I meant that there must be questions we can ask, things that only Sam would know.” 

Her intuitiveness is what has always made her invaluable and I manage a small smile. Al on the other hand is less impressed. 

His eyes narrow again. His continuing scepticism making him far from happy. “You mean other than where we used to have dinner?” 

He doesn’t give her a chance to answer or mention the project, instead he turns on me, pinning me with a look that makes me want to take a step back. “Which by the way isn’t classified. Anyone that works at the restaurant could have seen us. We were _regulars._ ” 

I flinch. Then almost as an afterthought he seems to remember the handlink. Turning it in his hands he adds. “I’m not sure what you’re inferring about Doctor Beckett and me or if this is someone’s idea of sick joke, either way there is one way we can be certain.”

“The imagining chamber,” I provide.

“It feels as if Al is looking straight through me now and while he neither confirms nor denies my suggestion I see him swallow hard, as if the very idea is completely unpalatable and needs to be forced down. 

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See part one for disclaimer. No warnings for this chapter.  
> Brief introduction of an original character. The section in italics represents Al remembering.

_**Al**_  


I don’t know where this guy is getting his information from, but I’m sure as hell not going to give him anymore. So what if he knows a few things about Sam and me. We were friends after all. Still are, I remind myself, and then stop mid-thought, disappointed that I just let myself think of him in the past tense. It’s been a rough few weeks though, and I know I don’t need to be adding anything else to the long list of things I already have to beat myself up about.  


I let the thought go as best I can, knowing I will pay for it somewhere down the line.  


The man wearing my best friends face appears pretty pleased with himself and I feel my anger increase, threatening to overwhelm me if I don’t get a handle on it.  


Verbena is no help. I can tell she thinks there is something to his story. I can’t say I blame her. Sam’s been missing for weeks and everyone’s getting a little antsy. We’ve all been looking for ways to reassure ourselves that he’s okay -- wherever the hell he is.  


Anyways, he’s right, whoever he is, and the imaging chamber is what I have in mind.  


Turning my attention back to the handlink I let Gooshie know that I will need the chamber brought online then feel myself frown as Verbena appears to see something I don’t. Our visitor isn’t looking so good I realise, and her mother hen approach has her reaching out before I work out exactly what is going.  


“You should sit down,” she is saying, already turning him around and leading him back to the table.  


It’s only a few steps, but I finally get with the program and take hold of his free arm, helping the rest of the way. Letting go as soon as Verbena’s got him settled I wonder if we should try to get him to lay down again. I’m about to suggest it to her, but the monitors start up as soon as contact is made with the table, registering our visitors presence once more, and after years of learning what they mean I don’t need to be told that there’s a problem.  


I look over at the wall, examining the display as it changes colour a number of times and then at Verbena. Understandably her focus is on our guest and she doesn’t return my gaze.  


“Can you tell me what’s happening?” she inquires.  


Sam’s broad shoulders are hunched now and his head bowed, his longer than usual hair obstructing his face so it’s hard to see what’s happening or tell if he’s trying to answer or not. There is a definite tremor radiating throughout his body however and I lean forward to get a better look at him, attempting to identify the cause of that at least.  


It takes me a second or two to work out what’s going on; to understand what he’s looking at and I steel myself for inevitable shock. Most visitors have a little trouble adjusting to seeing themselves for the first time. It’s not that Sam isn’t good looking, but it’s got to be a disconcerting to find yourself in the body of someone else. I skip over the changes to his appearance since the last time I saw him and concentrate on the here and now instead.  


The trembling is pretty intense now, the monitors indicating his heart rate and blood pressure are both above normal. It’s not a good sign. Our eyes meet in the table’s reflective surface, his searching, questioning and finally accusing.  


“Why didn’t you tell me?”  


Its Sam voice, a little hoarse perhaps, but the tone is completely alien to me even after years of hearing countless strangers use his vocal cords to communicate with us and I recoil, pulling back to look directly at the man beside me.  


“Tell you what?” I return.  


Usually I’m a little more understanding; try to convince our visitor to just stay calm and I would do my best to explain, except this guy is pushing all my buttons in the worst possible ways.  


I can see Verbena glaring at me over his rolled shoulders, reminding me to be patient. I want to tell her that under the circumstances I think I doing well not to just pop him, but I don’t get a chance to say anything as he straightens suddenly, blocking my view of her.  


“That I had gotten so old,” he clarifies, his tone no less accusing, “Jesus Al. How long have I been gone?”  


I can feel my own blood pressure rising and my heart pounding wildly in my chest. There is no way to answer his question and I shake my head, keeping up my clueless act. I know it can’t last but I don’t have anything else at this point.  


Verbena hasn’t left his side and I know she’s getting concerned. I need to change tact. Keep my frustration under control and turn on the charm. I take a breath. “Now,” I say letting it out. “Doctor Beeks here thinks you should sit down. Better yet, why don’t I help you?”  


I am ready to reach out if that’s what it takes, but something about the way he is looking at me stills my hand.  


“Why don’t you remember _us_?”  


I blink, trying to reconcile what I’m being asked. A hundred different scenarios immediately presenting themselves for review. Glancing down, then up again I take in knuckles turned white in an effort to hold himself up right and the continuing shaking of Sam’s less than steady frame.  


Pain and grief, both by the way are more Verbena’s area than mine, roll off of him in waves. I’ve seen torment before, far too much of it in fact, but this is something else. The word betrayal comes to mind. I don’t know why, it just seems to fit. God knows I’m doing my best to deal with all of this, but there is a lump forming in my throat and nothing I do seems to dislodge it. I look at him again, really look, trying to find anything that makes this different to the hundreds of other times when there is visitor in the waiting room. Its Sam face, his same green eyes and apart from physical changes to his appearance his colour had been reasonably good, pale but that’s understandable when you consider how long it’s been since he was last outside. Now though his skin is flushed red, marred only by the tears that slide down his cheeks.  


I know I must look like some kind of an idiot, standing there watching a grown man cry but something about the sight won’t let me look away. It’s mesmerising almost and I feel a shift or fold perhaps -- the room slowly dematerialising before my eyes.  


_“Come on Sam, don’t cry, please it’ll be okay.”  
_

_I want to say you’ve still got me and that maybe we should just get drunk and forget all about her, but I decide against it. He’s a terrible drunk and I’m on the wagon again._

_God, this is hard. It’s not like I’m expecting conversation, or for him to somehow find a way too miraculously stop the flood of tears currently cascading down his flushed face, but I want to help and I am fast running out of ideas.  
_

_Getting too close is a bad idea, I know it even as I stand and take the couple steps that brings me into his personal space. Reaching out and touching him is also playing with fire, especially when he’s so vulnerable and I’m not sure exactly what I’m doing. His eyes are full of pain though, turning to look at me as I sit beside him, pleading with me to make it stop. It’s my final undoing and I edge closer. His hair feels like silk as it slips through my fingers, his skin warm and inviting where I gently thumb the tears from his face.  
_

_Time stretches and slows, the events of the afternoon disappearing along with the rest of the outside world. I utter nonsense throughout, words that are meant to calm and reassure and eventually the tears subside and the intermittent sobs of abject loss and uncertainty cease altogether.  
_

_We’re still far too close and somewhere in the back of my mind warning bells are ringing, telling me to back off. I know I should listen; be grateful I seem to have been able to help after all. I shouldn’t be taking advantage of him this way, but the pull to close the remaining distance between us is too strong and while I am still at pains to admit it, I’ve been in love with him for too long…_  


I blink again. The distance call to succumb to unspoken temptation vanishing as the waiting room and all its limited content re-emerge around me. Everything is back where it should be from what I can tell with only the briefest of assessments. Still, I’ll damned if I know what’s just happened or why on earth I would be thinking of Sam in that way. God, was I going to kiss him?  


“Al,” Verbena warns, her voice urgent, snapping out of my reverie.  


The look she gives me makes it clear that it’s not the first time she has tried to get my attention. I’m still confused though and I glance down. The handlink is squawking in my hand. I don’t understand how I didn’t hear it but there is no time to even consider the possible reasons. The earnest sound of the monitors changing their pattern once again alerts me to the imminent danger to our visitor.  


I don’t wait for permission. Taking hold of the hand he has been supporting himself with I sling his arm around my shoulders then hoist him up and on the table.  


It’s not the gentlest of deliveries; nevertheless I manage to achieve my goal. My arms are still around our guest when I hear rather than see the wall open behind me. Hurried footsteps following close behind. I know I need to make room for whoever has come to help and I extract myself as carefully as I can, mumbling an apology of sorts as I straighten and let go. Sam’s bright eyes and tear streaked face turning to watch me as I back away and others take my place beside him.  


As much as I know I should, I can’t stay and watch. The handlink has fallen quiet again and I raise it to let Gooshie know I am coming out. There is no doubt in my mind that Verbena will make sure everything is taken care of and I turn to leave.  


There is still a certain amount of commotion going on when I exit the waiting room and enter the Project’s hub. I ignore the questioning glances I receive from those waiting for news and I cross the floor as I have a hundred times before as I make my way to the imagining chamber. Gooshie is standing behind Ziggy’s controls and he looks up as I pass by, his mouth already open in preparation of asking me something that I already know will be completely inane. I don’t have the time for it though.  


“Just centre me on Sam,” I tell him. Thankfully the man’s had enough first-hand experience of pushing me when I am obviously not in the mood for conversation to forestall whatever he was going to say. I see him close his mouth again and direct his attention towards the control panel in front of him.  


I take the few steps up the ramp and position myself in the middle of the room, the chamber door closing silently around me. Grateful for the small amount of privacy I let out a breath I didn’t realise I had been holding and try to slow the thundering in my chest. I have no idea what is happening in the waiting room or the current status of our guest. I only know that I need to find Sam and I concentrate on calming myself.  


It takes a minute or two before I note the characteristic whirls of the chamber beginning its program and I hear Gooshie’s hesitant voice crackle through the audio system.  


“Do we have a date Admiral?”  


 _Fuck._ That’s a damn good question and I mentally kick myself for not thinking of this beforehand. “Just give me a moment,” I tell him.  


More often than not the visitor is able to provide us with sufficient information about where they have come from for Ziggy to fill in the blanks. I am still not comfortable with the man currently inhabiting Sam’s body, or much of what he has had to say so far, but I don’t have anything else to work with.  


“September 3rd 2000,” I announce.  


Not surprisingly there is a pause, the audio falling silent during which time I suspect Gooshie is trying to decide if risking my annoyance is worth it or not and then the distinct sound of the line being reopened. “Just to clarify Admiral, you want me to use todays date to locate Doctor Beckett?”  


I sigh and pinch the areas between my eyes, some days I swear I am working with morons.  


“Yes,” I grit out.  


Gooshie’s nervous acknowledgment is the last I hear before the connection falls quiet again and it’s only a handful of seconds later that a succession of random images come into view, swirling around me at a rate too fast to keep up and I know from experience it is better if I don’t try to. Not that is has always worked, but I have learnt to just keep my eyes fixed on one point until a location is found. The visions eventual slow in much the same way an elevator does when it reaches its destination and finally stops. The whole process can take up to several minutes and has on occasion made me physically sick. Astronaut training has nothing on this and anyone who says it can’t be much different hasn’t a clue what they’re talking about. It’s not so bad this time however, and I raise the handlink and punch in the code to open the imaging chamber door once the whirling stops -- my focus immediately shifting to what is unfolding as I step through it.  


I am not sure what I am feeling exactly. I have seen enough over the years to know that absolutely anything is possible. Still, I can’t say I actually believed we would find Sam this way and nothing prepares me for the fear I feel slowly seeping into my bones as I take in the scene before me.  


There is a hive of activity surrounding the man on the waiting room table and the panel that usually conceals the emergency equipment has been opened to reveal the various apparatus and supplies, much of which seems to be in use. The other section of the wall, the one that contains the generally unseen monitors that provide basic information about our visitor’s medical status as long as they are touching the table, is eerily dark. I feel my chest constrict and my head spin, the reality of the situation taking shape.  


My knees are threatening to buckle even as I force myself to move forward, the slow painful steps bringing me closer to what if I had ever let myself imagine this, is my worst nightmare. I can see Verbena standing out of the way now, her brow deeply furrowed and her arms folded protectively against her chest as other are grouped around Sam, trying to help him.  


I don’t want to think about what has actually happened or how I have been treating him, I just know I’ll never be able forgive myself if he’s not going to be alright.  


Another step brings me into the very middle of the proceedings, the holographic nature of my presence means I don’t need to worry about distracting anyone or getting in their way and I pass right through the small throng to get to him.  


Sam’s Fermi suit has been cut open to expose his chest, arms and legs. A cannula has been inserted into one arm and the portable ECG set up alongside and connected via numerous points on his body. The display is at an awkward angle and unreadable from my present position. His colour is better and thankfully he is conscience and appears to be communicating with Kate Baker, one of our medical team. I’m relieved beyond words and I find myself breathing a little easier, though my heart still seems to have a mind of its own.  


Most of what Kate is saying to Sam I don’t understand but I gather he does. I feel a familiar sting behind my eyes. I still don’t know the prognosis, but I do know he is in safe hands. That he is finally home.  


“Sam?”  


The small almost undetectable twitch at the corner of his mouth is all I need to tell me I have been heard. Too bright eyes shift to regard me and in a moment I know I will never forget, Sam returns my smile.  


The sting has become too much to ignore and I use the back of my hand to wipe my eyes. “Welcome home, buddy.”  


I want to say more but he still looks pretty worn out, old in a way I never imagined him.  


“I’m right outside,” I tell him. “I’m going to go and come back in okay? You hold tight and let everyone take care of you until then.”  


I am trying to sound comforting, but Jesus, much more of this and I know I am going to end up blubbing like a baby. There are tears rolling down his cheeks again. Nevertheless he nods, indicating he understands and I pull back, planning to do exactly as I have just said.  


“Al.”  


It’s only one word and it’s likely that most of the people gathered around him think he’s asking for me. In fact there is only one exception. Never one to miss much I see Verbena’s interest is piqued, her arms unfolding as she steps forward to investigate. She can’t see me, only Sam and I lean forward again to find out what he wants.  


“What is it Sam?”  


His expression is heartfelt now, hopeful I would say. “Do you remember us?”  


He asked me this before and I can’t say I understood it any better than I do now. It doesn’t seem to matter though, it is clear he wants me to say yes and I am not about to disappoint him, not after everything he’s been through.  


“Of course I do, you’re my best friend, always have been.”  


Offering one last smile I reopen the chamber door and step through it.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Verbena** _  


Operating at a level of precision and expertise rarely seen outside of large city hospitals the usually reliable sensors concealed within the tables internal workings are abandoned for the more sophisticated electrocardiography machine and sphygmomanometer. A measure that hasn’t been necessary for some time, six months at least, I realise. Not since Sam leaped into the retired Louisiana lawyer and the poor man had gone in the cardiac arrest whilst he was with us.

I help where I can but it quickly becomes evident that I need to stand out of the way so as not to impede the movement of others as Kate and her small team work to lower our visitor’s blood pressure and heart rate. Cutting away Sam’s body suit to expose his chest and to apply resuscitation should it be required, electrodes and leads are attached at the necessary points on his body and over the course of untold minutes the crisis is averted.

Judging from the expression on Kate’s face and the ECG display the situation was now under control. Our guest’s heart rate is still a little irregular, but nowhere near as concerning as it had been. I can see her talking to him and can just make out his murmured replies. The tension in my own body receding to some extent and for the first time since the emergency had begun I breathe a sigh of relief. The fact that he has remained conscious and able to respond throughout is a very good sign.

It becomes obvious moments later however, that Kate isn’t the only person speaking to him.

“Al.”

Sam’s voice is weak, yet still distinctive amongst the sounds already filling the space. As is the affection contained in the single word.

I recall Al had mentioned something about the imagining chamber and I move forward to get a better view, my eyes scanning the room in search of the man most associated with the name. There is no sign of the Projects only remaining director, but I know better than to discount his presence altogether.  


“Do you remember us?”

Seconds that may have been as long as full minutes pass. The constant sound of the ECG and the low hum of conversation providing a cover for the silent exchange, until I see the edge of Sam’s lips curve into a soft smile.

There is moisture gathering at the corner of his eyes and I watch as they flutter closed, the build-up of emotion spilling down his cheeks unchecked. Apparently content with the answer he has received from our unseen interloper he turns his attention to those around him. A sense of peace settling over him, the realisation of which is nothing short of miraculous. I feel as if I have just witnessed the shifting of a great weight from his shoulders, or perhaps the confirmation of a long held promise. I am not sure; I only know that I have been made privy to something incredibly intimate. My own eyes mist up as I continue to regard him, his handsome face showing none of their earlier signs of stress or pain and my heart skip a hopeful beat. I am very aware that I am only hearing half of a conversation, but his question had been so similar to the one he had asked Al and the reminder of it brings a dozen others to mind. Could this really be our Sam? Had he finally come home?

I look up again, searching for signs of life in the direction he had been watching. There is no one there of course. For all intents and purposes he had been talking to himself, except something tells me that is not the case.

Honestly, I don’t know if this is Sam or not, but if anyone will, it would be Al.

Catching Kate’s eyes I indicate towards the wall at the far end of the room and slip away.

My exit is barely complete and the wall sealing the waiting room from the rest of the complex is no sooner closed behind me when I catch sight of Donna Elesee headed towards me. One of her many shawls drawn protectively around her narrow frame, her fingers clasped tightly at the edges and the soft glow of her wrist link flickering beneath. I don’t know what she has heard or if she has simply come to see Sam. Not being in contact or even having his body here for the last many weeks has been difficult for her and it is perfectly understandable for her to want to see her husband. Even if the man in the waiting room hadn’t been the one she married for a very long time.

I offer her a friendly smile and move to meet her half way. “Hello, there’s been quite a bit of excitement tonight.”

I try to keep my tone light and positive to counter her more serious expression though it is clear I have my work cut out for me.

“Is he back, Verbena?”

Her eyes are bright, fear of yet another disappointment barely contained under a carefully constructed façade. My heart clenches in sympathy, but I keep my own optimism in check. There was no point getting ahead of myself. I still need to talk to Al to confirm the identity of our latest guest, but as Sam’s wife she has a right to know about the transformation that had occurred since we last saw him. Whatever Al tells me I know she will want to see him, and it is best I decide, to prepare her first.

Nodding, I take hold of her arm and turn her gently in the opposite direction. After everything she has been through she doesn’t need to see what is going on in the waiting room just now. It would unsettle anyone.

“I heard the medical team had been brought in, and that there was a problem with the visitor’s heart,” she says.

Donna’s steps slow, drawing me to a halt beside her. There is no point denying it. Ziggy would have informed her the moment our visitor arrived and the Projects grapevine would have supplied the rest of the information, making up what had not been included in the original transmission and spreading it across the remainder of the facility in a matter of minutes.

“Yes, but it’s all under control now,” I explain. “We should talk though. How about we have some tea in my office?”

Undoubtedly distracted she doesn’t respond immediately and instead glances back in the direction of the waiting room, trying to decide I imagine, if she will come with me or not. Her brief seconds of indecision working in my favour as it turns out when Al suddenly appears at the other end of the corridor. Looking far too startled for my liking, but giving nothing away as he raises a finger to his lips to stop me announcing his presence and then backs away without saying a word.

It’s very strange, even by Al’s standards. He and Donna have never been what I would call close. Still, I have never known him to purposely avoid her before, especially when it came to Sam or dealing with one of his leaps. There was clearly something going on. I’m just not sure what at this point. The sooner I find out, the sooner I will know how to help.

I note the careful disengagement as Donna’s arm slips from my loose grasp at the same time Al appears and subsequently disappears. Turning to regard her I watch as she takes a step towards where her husband’s body is housed, her gaze still fixed in that direction.

To be honest I am a little confused. I am not used to my friends behaving in such peculiar ways or feeling as if I only have half the story to work with and it takes me a moment to catch up. Al has always been difficult to pin down. Some days his priorities are clear, he loves and cares for Sam as would be expected given their long friendship and current predicament while on others he is less secure, constantly second guessing himself and the decisions he makes. I have often thought he would be a perfect candidate for post-traumatic stress disorder, but he has never given me the time, let alone his permission to properly diagnose him.

I glance once more at the empty corridor and then back towards the waiting room where Donna is standing. For the time being at least Al would have to remain the enigma he has always been. In all good conscious I know I can’t let Donna see Sam before I talk to her and the realisation that she must be my primary concern in all of this is enough for me to gather my wits.

“I have camomile,” I inform her, hoping the lure of a good night’s rest might make the decision for her. Of course I generally keep a wide selection of teas and sleeping draughts, but some varieties are more enticing than others.

Whatever the outcome of tonight, it promises to be a long one for all concerned and I know sleep doesn’t come easily to her. I also know she prefers natural remedies to prescriptions ones and that I have never been able to persuade her to accept something stronger than a cup of tea to help her deal with Sam’s ongoing absence. It is not surprising. Her husband hasn’t been home in almost two years and then it was only for a few hours. Before that it had been a little over three years. Under the circumstance I don’t imagine I would sleep very well either.

Almost shyly she turns back to face me. “Okay,” she says. It’s plaintive, almost as if the fear was getting the better of her but she wasn’t ready to admit it just yet.

I am relieved, not because she is obviously willing to talk to me, but because I know it’s better if she has the information she deserves. “Come on then.”

The remainder of the short trip is conducted in silence, as is the tea making ceremony that usually precedes one of our discussions. Settling in a respective chairs I let her raise the mug I have given her a couple of times to her lips before setting my own aside. Not at all surprised that it is Donna who starts the conversation.

“Has an identity been established?” she inquires.

I shake my head. “Al is still working on it.” I try to sound casual, reminding myself that until he tells me otherwise this was just another leap. If the man in the waiting room turns out to be Sam then I will deal with any questions she has about why I didn’t tell her earlier when the need arises.

My response is accepted with a slight incline of her head. Sometimes it took hours before we knew who we were dealing with and Donna like the rest of us understood that.

“Is something wrong with him Verbena? I don’t just mean with his heart, is there something else?”

Despite the slight tremor I detect as she balances her tea in one hand and attempts to draw her shawl more firmly around her shoulders with the other she appears calm, her voice steady.

“What makes you ask that?”

The tears start without fanfare. There is no bid made to wipe them away or to even acknowledge their existence. A box of Kleenex lays between us, but she makes no move for it and not wanting to interrupt her I don’t offer them to dry her eyes. For long minutes I wait and eventually she answers me.

“Because he’s never been missing before and it’s been so long. Six weeks Verbena. God only knows where he has been all this time and what he’s been through.”

Her voice is less steady now and I lean forward a little, choosing my words carefully. Most of what I am about to say she already knows but it is important I believe to set the ground work for what I am guessing she suspects.

“You know that ever since Sam leaped the first time we’ve been taking care of his needs. When he’s on a leap the visitor is generally mobile and that helps with muscle tone and circulation. He is also fed and showered depending on how long our guest stays. Sample taking, and testing along with hair cutting and shaving usually occurred during the in-between times.”

Donna nods and reaches at last for Kleenex to wipe her eyes.

It’s the times between Sam’s leaps that she avoids and I can’t say I blame her. Being present when a visitor is alert and communicating is very different to dealing with the cold reality of her situation when her husband is little more than a shell, artificially sustained because he is not capable of caring for himself. Giving her another moment or two to refocus, I watch as she tucks the now damp tissue through the band circling her wrist and I go on.

“For the last few years Sam has appeared mostly unchanged, even the signs of aging that would have normally occurred over the same period seem to have been delayed for some reasons. There have been discussions, but none of us really know why he hasn’t been getting any older.”

I let my words trail off, watching as she absorbs what I have said until a tiny spark of recognition appears in her eyes.

“He’s aged?” she asks, incredulous. One of her small hands moving to her chest to rest over her heart. “Is that what you wanted to talk to me about, that he’s finally started to look his age?”

“Yes,” I reply, more than a little taken back by her reaction.

“Oh thank God, I thought it was something else. I don’t know what exactly, I was just afraid there was something terribly wrong with him.”

Her entire posture changes as she speaks, her shoulders relaxing and her expression becoming less strained. It’s a welcome sight, but one I had not expected to see. The tears start again, but this time they are obviously shed in relief. I want to explain in more detail, help her understand that Sam’s persona hadn’t just caught up the years he had been leaping; he had in fact aged by at least twice that length of time, but Donna it seems has other ideas.

“Can you show me?” she says, setting her tea down on the small table beside her and gesturing towards the monitor on my desk as she stands up.

There are close circuit cameras throughout the Project, including the waiting room and imaging chamber. Our security team takes care of most things but there are monitors set up for each head of department in their officers to keep track of Sam’s whereabouts. None have sound but all allow observation without disturbance. Not to mention reassurance when one of us is not able to be present.

While I would prefer she waited, it is clear Donna isn’t put off by what she has learnt. She is bound to become suspicious if I refuse her and it is better I decide, that if she wants to see Sam, that I am with her, at least this first time.

“Okay,” I return, rising myself and stepping around my chair to take up my place on the other side of the desk.

I had intended to keep working before the alarm to announce Sam’s return had sounded. There are still unsaved notes on my computer and I take care of those before I switch on the monitor and turn it so that Donna can see also. She has dried her eyes again and has been smiling at me as I work. Excited but a little anxious I imagine. She is not the only one of course and I take a moment as the monitor warms up to purposely calm myself, knowing that whatever she makes of all of this she will need my support.

Even with both of us as ready as possible and my best intention firmly in place some things just don't work out the way you plan. The overhead light is reflecting on the screen; causing havoc with the picture and it is necessary for me to adjust the position a couple of times before we can both make out what is going on in the waiting room.

At first glance everything appears much as it had a short time ago, Kate is still there, as are a number of her staff, although they seem more occupied with the equipment than the man they have been treating. The reason why becomes plain when I note the familiar sight of Al’s brightly coloured jacket amongst those gathered around the table in the middle of the room. The only explanation I can think of is that he must have gone back in after I had seen him in the corridor. It still don’t understand why he didn’t want to see Donna, but I will have to add that question to the growing list of others I have for when I see him next. His presence makes it is impossible to see Sam with him standing in the way though and I switch camera angles to get a better view.

It’s an improvement of sorts and I look over at the women hoping for a glimpse of her husband as we perch together on the corner of my desk. Her arms are once again folded protectively across her chest, her hands twisting the tassels on her shawl in anticipation. I reach out briefly, stroking her long hair, grateful I am here with her before I look back at the screen.

Apprehension steadily growing inside of me as the scene before us develops into something completely unexpected.

The others have moved away now and Al is bending over our guest, the other man’s arms extended to embrace him. I can’t hear what they are saying but you would have to be blind not to see the love in Sam’s eyes as his tapered fingers caress Al’s face or the kiss he presses to his lips when he pulls him closer.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See part 1 for my disclaimer etc., This is short update from Sam's point of view.
> 
> I have also corrected a number of typos which I found in part 4 after I posted it. As already mentioned this story is not betaed, if you find a mistake please feel free to point it out to me.

_**Sam** _

I feel weak, as if my limbs don’t belong to me and yet the sight of Al, not the holographic version that had just visited me, but the bold and brash, living and breathing one now standing within easy reach gives me the energy I need to lift my arms.

After his initial reaction it’s an almost overwhelming relief to see him smile and lean forward to allow me to initiate contact. 

It has literally been years since the last time I touched him and I find myself marvelling at my ability to finally do so. The weathered skin beneath my fingertips is slightly cool from the air conditioning but still warm, so alive and real. I close my eyes. I am trembling, both physically and mentally exhausted. It is difficult to keep my arms up, but I am not ready to let to go of him just yet and I continue my careful exploration unsighted. Scarcely able to believe that after so long I can still recognise every indentation and small crease; the clear shape of his lips and the sharp jut of his chin, both of which are easily recognised as I caress his dear face.

I can also hear him talking to me. Telling me in a voice clearly affected by emotion that is equal to mine that everything was going to be fine, that I’m going to be fine and I am not to worry about anything. It is so Al and while I have no reason to doubt him I can’t seem to make myself care. If I die tomorrow it won’t matter because I am here now, home at last, and Al is with me.

The moments he lets me stroke his face melt into one another and for that time at least everything else fades into insignificance. There is only Al and I. The rest of the world disappears around us. I open my eyes again and he leans closer, still smiling at me. I can feel the warmth of his breath and it’s a natural progression, I realise. The slow slide of fingers across his cheek and into his hair, wrapping carefully around his scalp to draw him down just a little more. One exhalation mingles with another and I lift up. My elbows slipping a little on the steel table supporting me. My vision blurring as the distance is closed. Oh God. Dry patched lips meet my own and I am in heaven. 

Heaven or whatever other unworldly dimension we currently occupy lasts no more than an instant however until it disintegrates. I feel the shock and then resistance, the unspoken repulsion as he draws back. Our connection broken. My eyes cloud but his expression is easily readable, stern and less understanding than before. 

I’m confused. I watch as Al opens his mouth. I’m not sure if he is going to say something or not. One of his own hands lifting to touch his lips, almost as if he can’t believe what’s just happen, then rolling at the last moment to wipe away my kiss. A look of disbelief and horror marring his face. An admonishment that is loud and clear although not a word is uttered. I let my arms fall to my side. My hopes and dreams shattering as flesh and bone make contact with cold steel.

“Jesus Sam, what are you doing?” Al’s eyes are wide and bright, translating a position I don’t understand.

His face is flushed, heat rising from his neck to cover his well-loved face. Embarrassment, I note as I lay prone against the table. I’m sorry I want to say. The words won’t come though and now the moment has passed it is obvious he is no longer interested. 

The sniff of indignation is not unexpected, nor is the step back to distance himself from the situation. I am used to pretending that Al and I are no more than colleagues. Still I would have thought that some leeway would be given. Especially after a quick glance confirms that no one in the room has witnessed anything incriminating and I had meant no harm.

The woman, Kate she said her name was, a doctor I assume and the others helping her have turned from their work and are now staring quizzically in our direction, completely oblivious to what has just occurred. It has little impact. Despite his sudden outburst and reddened face Al continues to act every inch the man of position and authority he is. Only this time he appears lost for words. 

I find myself feeling incredibly deflated. I know better than to do anything to risk Al’s reputation but we’ve separated for years and I have missed him more than words can possibly explain. I let myself sink into the table, my exhaustion taking the very last of my strength as I watch the silent exchange between my lover and the woman who had come to help me. For what it is, it lasts no more than a moment or two before the waiting room wall slides open once again and all eyes turn towards a new visitor, closely followed behind by Verbena.

Something stirs as I take in the sight of the two strong women striding towards me. Verbena for all our history is a known quantity and represents compassion and support, the other for reasons I can’t explain does not. There is something about her though and I feel a sense of nostalgia -- a long forgotten memory taking shape as they draw closer. It’s from a time before Al and me, I recall, when my understanding of myself was very different to what it is now. A time long ago when there were women, one woman who I had desired and thought could fill the empty spaces inside of me. In the end it was not to be and in spite my feelings for her she did not trust me to stay.

I blink, squeezing my eyes closed before opening them again. She is older now, but no less attractive. 

_Donna._

How on earth, my mind demands, but is given no time to react. I see Al out of the corner of my eye moving further away, increasing the distance between us. His arms folded and his eyes definitely avoiding mine. It doesn’t make sense. Why would he make room for Donna Elesee? The woman who had abandoned me. He could barely tolerate her before she made a fool of me, I recall. In essence leaving me waiting for her on the day we were meant to be married, heartbroken and bereft. Afterwards he wouldn’t even refer to her by name! 

I want to ask him why she is here and then have him explain why he isn’t giving me the slightest reassurance that he cares for me, that he loves me as much as I remember. He said he _remembered_ , but it is plain that he is not willing to intervene. I don’t understand what’s going on and I feel suddenly disconnected and unsure of my surrounding. My eyes search the room, looking for an allied I guess; anyone who can tell what’s going on. My chest is tight and my head is pounding again. I am beyond tired. I know I have been gone a long time, but it is obvious that much has changed in my absence. Al is different somehow. Things aren’t the same. I want to close my eyes, wish myself to another time and place, but neither appears to be an option. 

Up close Donna’s long hair draws on her aging features. Her small hands twist anxiously at the edges of the shawl she has wrapped around her shoulders, suggesting that she is just as uncertain by my presence as I am of hers. Her bright eyes studying me from head to foot, calmly categorising the changes she must see in me. I glance away while she looks, and decides I presume, what she thinks of me now. Al is still refusing the return my gaze and after a moment I shift my focus to the woman now standing beside me.

Somehow I manage to smile at her, although I know it is only a shadow of the ones we shared years before. Tears streak her face as she bends forward, one hand extending to touch and make certain of my existence. I let it happen, unsure of why it is the right thing to do, or how I know it is what everyone expects. 

“Oh Sam, is it really you? Are you really home?” She asks.

Donna’s voice is choked and her words barely audible above the beating of my heart. Regardless of the mostly even temperature of the waiting room I feel chilled. Her touch is light and I shiver as her fingers skim over my arm to where my Fermi suit had been cut open earlier. I swallow the bile that rises in my throat. I know everyone is watching, that they are expecting me make some kind of grand gesture. I can’t though and as one memory fits with another I turn my face away. Dumbfounded by what the memories reveal and completely helpless as gentle but insistent hands guide me back again.

“Sam honey, it’s Donna.”

I can hear her need for confirmation and I swallow again, forcing myself to acknowledge her. While things between us didn’t end well I have no desire to hurt her. Too much time has passed for that. In many ways she did me a favour and allowed me to discover what and whom I truly needed. 

I let my eyes skirt back to her, catching briefly the glimmer of gold on her left hand as she draws back. Another memory sliding into place. It can’t be real though, surely not my mind insists. 

Even with my mounting reservations I make myself look, to see the ring she is wearing, realising though I still don’t know how it is possible as the same one I had purchased for her more than twenty years earlier. My visions blurs and the world tilts around me. Time and space bending and shifting to fill in the remaining gaps in my memory. The sounds of concern and commotion ringing in my ears as I manage to roll to my side and retch again. 

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see part one for warnings and my disclaimer.

**Al**

The kid is sick again and I automatically cover my mouth to avoid embarrassing myself, then step out of the way as Kate goes to help him. I feel sorry for him, I do, but he has Donna and the others with him now and before I even realise what I am doing I turn on my heels and make a beeline for the door. I tell myself its better this way. I don’t want to end up puking all over the waiting room floor out of sympathy for Sam, but I know that’s not exactly the truth.  


God almighty. Sam. I know I never gave up on him, even when the leaps seemed like one endless loop of impossible scenarios, I still held out hope that we’d get through it and one day bring him home, but it’s hard to believe that after all this time he is here. I’m still reeling from the fact that it’s actually him when I make my way through the main hub, somehow managing to avoid the searching eyes of all those I encounter as I travel the familiar route to my office. Wondering as I close the door and take a seat behind my desk how long it will be before someone comes looking for me. Verbena will the first I decide as I put my head down on the solid surface in front of me and just try to breathe through the turmoil inside of me.  


I’m not sure what I am feeling. It’s a strange mix of elation and fear. Though for the life of me I don’t understand why I am afraid. I just know I am. My mind is racing and the palms of my hands are sweating in a way they haven’t in years. There is something, but I can’t seem to put my finger on what it is about seeing Sam again that has me on edge. It’s good, great to have him back. Jesus we’ve spent the last five years trying to bring him home. Feeling the way I do doesn’t make sense, then again, there isn’t much about Sam’s leaping around in time that does make sense so maybe I just need to relax and see how things pan out.  


I close my eyes and adjust my position so that my head is resting more comfortably on my folded arms. I think about seeing him again, how different he looks. God it’s only been six weeks since we lost contact and the last time I saw him it was like every other. He was confused I recall, but even that wasn’t unusual. Now it’s almost as if I haven’t seen him in years. He’s aged. Honestly, he looks closer to sixty instead of not quite fifty. He’s still Sam I remind myself; no matter the changes to his appearance the neural link between us confirms it. There is no way I could have been centred on anyone but Sam Beckett when I stepped into the imaging chamber and had Ziggy search for him, it’s just not possible. He is also my best friend, my conscience remarks - - except, the part where he kissed me. I squeeze my eyes closed a little tighter, my hands instinctively curling into fists as I try to ride out the other feelings that awaken with the memory. The thought of strong masculine hands and warm full lips pressed to mine, along with images of Sam in the throes of passions that try as I might, I can’t reconcile and that only add to my confusion. I shift in my seat, attempting to ignore the undeniable urge to reach down and adjust myself as my body responses with a mind of its own.  


It’s no use. I let hands relax and open my eyes. As much as I don’t want to admit it I can’t shake the notion that having Sam home isn’t the cause for celebration that I know we all want it to be.  


Shit.  


In spite of the many times I have put my head down for a few minutes between leaps my desk isn’t all that comfortable. I can already feel the pull of muscles across my shoulders and down my spine as I sit up again.  


Resting against the chairs padded back I force myself to ignore my growing discomfort, splaying my legs to compensate for the hard on I am now sporting and simply let my eyes travel around the room. My office isn’t very big. Standard design. Ten by ten in dimension and just like every other space in this particular complex it’s full of memories, some good, some not so good. Some I’m not even sure where they fit in.  


I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Sam had been insistent that I remember. He had asked me a couple of times if I remembered _us_ , but I didn’t really understand what he meant by it. I still don’t.  


The truth is Sam’s leaping around in time has changed so much of our lives that I scarcely remember what it was like beforehand. Sometimes I think I do, but then something else clouds over it and it becomes less clear. I know we were close, that hasn’t changed in all the years he’s been gone. Some days though it’s like we were very different men to the ones we are now. I get glimpses of it sometimes. Like before. They’re memories I guess, but I’m not sure. Beeks would probably say they are most likely repressed feelings and remind me that love was a part of friendship and I shouldn’t be afraid of them, or how they make me think about Sam. I’m not going to tell her of course. I had enough of her psycho mumbo jumbo when he leaped into the Stormer woman and once was certainly one time too many for that kind of conversation if you ask me. Besides, I have Beth and the girls and I don’t need to be delving into parts of myself that I left behind after the war.  


My assumption that I wouldn’t have to wait long before my first visitor showed up is spot on. There is a small knock on my door only a few minutes later and I sit forward again; covering the bulge in the front of my slacks and call out for them to come in. As expected, it’s Verbena who appears on the other side when the door it’s pushed opened. Looking very much like a woman with something on her mind she wastes no time making herself at home and I watch as she takes the seat opposite my own, mirroring my posture as she leans on the desk.  


“Are you going to tell me what’s happening Al? Or are you going to make me guess?”  


She had been there when I had visited Sam via the imagining chamber, but it didn’t take someone, even someone as clever as her to put two-and-two together. She’s been right from the beginning and I’m the one who didn’t want to believe what was staring us both in the face from the moment he arrived. “You know it’s him, Verbena.”  


Despite her previous optimism her face still lights up with confirmation. “How? After all this time how is it possible?”  


I shake my head and raise my hands in a gesture of mock surrender. Trying, although I doubt how successful I am going to be at warding off her exuberance. I can understand of course. Sam’s sudden return must have everyone asking the same question.  


“I’m as in the dark as you are,” I tell her. It was too soon to say for sure and really, now that he was here, safe and from what I can tell so far, mostly sound, it didn’t matter why or how. Sam was back and we needed to stay open minded if we were ever going to find out why he had continued to leap for as long as he did. “Maybe God, fate or whatever has been bouncing him around all these years decided he’d done enough and it was time to come home.”  


I am not sure if I believe it myself, some day’s maybe, but Verbena has never been one to rebuke the idea of a higher power intervening in Sam’s experiment and now it seems is no different. She nods at what I have said and sits back a little in her chair. Her next question is as unsurprising as her presence here.  


“Are you okay, Al?”  


She has probably gathered I’m not okay, far from it in fact, but I am not about to disappoint her by coming straight out and saying it.  


“Of course, Sam’s back. It’s great, what we’ve all been waiting for.”  


I expect her to launch into one of her speeches, tell me how therapeutic sharing your feelings can be, pry the way she usually does, but she doesn’t react immediately and after moment or two I look away. I had pushed the reports I had been working on to one side when I came back earlier to gather my thoughts. They are out of order now and I spend a short while reorganising them into the relevant files; doing my best to look busy, hoping that maybe this time she will just take me at my word, but I don’t have that kind of luck. Verbena is watching me like a hawk and the next time I glance in her direction it is clear she hasn’t believed a word I have just said. Bloody shrinks, they are all the same. Between her and Beth I don’t get any privacy.  


“You know you can tell me if there is something bothering you, Al. It’s what I am here for and Sam’s coming home has got to bring up questions for you.”  


“Yeah I know,” I return, carefully avoiding her eyes as I finish with the files and put them aside. It is safe for me to sit back again and I take the opportunity to stand up and get some water from the cooler. “Do you want some?” I ask, holding out a paper cup.  


The incline of her head is very small, hardly noticeable really, but I take it as a no and turn to face the cooler, preferring a view of the wall behind it to the back of her head. Filling my cup I stand for a moment contemplating the blank wall in front of me. My heart is beating a mile a minute and my head feels like it actually might explode. There’s got to be plenty of people she could be talking to right now, she doesn’t need to be here. _Jesus_ , Donna’s got to be having some questions of her own. Not that she deserves….shit. The stray thought brings me up short and for a moment I am not sure what I was thinking. All I know is that I don’t want to be thinking or talking about any of this, not now, probably not ever. My hand is shaking a little as I lift the cup to my mouth and drain it in one quick swallow.  


There is barely enough room in my office to swing a cat let alone to avoid someone as persistent as Verbena for very long and I know, short of creating some sort of emergency she won’t be budging anytime soon. I refill my cup, more to have something to do than anything else, and then take a deep breath, hoping it will help calm me as I return to my seat.  


Verbena appears to be considering something as I sit down, but looks up again to meet my eyes. God I hate it when she plays the silent card; makes me feel like I’m the one who’s got to make conversation and annoys me to the point of wanting to tear my hair out. I look away and endeavour to make myself as comfortable, well as comfortable as I can, considering my company. After a few minutes of the two of us basically trying to wait out the other and me slowly draining the contents of my cup a little at a time, I can’t stand it any longer and finally succumb to the inevitable.  


“Do you think he’ll be alright Bena? I mean he looks like he’s been through…” My words fade as I try to get my head around what has happened to Sam. Then add, “God only knows what,” when I can’t find the right words. I try to keep the worry from my voice, but I don’t think I am fooling either of us. I am worried. I got one hell of fright when it looked like the kid was having a heart attack earlier, and then remember we still don’t know if that’s what happened. The thought sobers me, reminding me once again that above all else I cared about him and want him to be okay.  


Looking up at last I meet Verbena’s questioning gaze. She’s not sure herself I realise and I suddenly wish I had thought to ask her something less disturbing.  


“Sam’s in good hands and I am sure we’ll all know soon enough.”  


She adds one of her reassuring smiles then reaches across the desk, offering me her hand. I know she wants me to take it and I swallow the small lump forming in my throat. Forcing myself to unfold my fingers and reach for her.  


“We’re all concerned Al, but I have the distinct feeling that’s not why you left the waiting room after Donna and I arrived. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I am curious, does the reason you’re hiding out here have anything to do with Sam kissing you?”  


Oh for Christ sake.  


I try to retrieve my hand, but she is stronger than she looks. “What the hell Verbena.”  


I am rattled, having gone from reasonably calm to completely stunned in a matter of seconds, I can’t seem to slow my heart down enough to engage my brain. Even as I open my mouth to keep protesting however, she is releasing me and providing me with the opportunity to get away. Seeing my chance for what it is I pull back as far as I can given the limited space, knocking the paper cup over in the process and colliding with the wall behind me as I attempt to put as much distance between us as possible. Fuck. I am shaking again and I take hold of the armrests on my chair for support and plant my feet.  


“We saw it Al.”  


My mind is reeling and I shake my head, it wasn’t possible. It takes a moment or two, but finally my brain catches up with my mouth. “We?” I demand in the most accusing tone I can muster.  


Verbena doesn’t even blink. Then again I would be surprised if she did. She’s an expert at dealing with attitude, especially ones as well practiced and predictable as mine -- from time travelling geniuses to the most pig-headed senators she had dealt with them all. Truly, some days I wondered if after all these years of working at the Project if I posed any challenge for her at all. Probably not I decide. Still, old habits are hard to break and I am certainly in no mood to start learning new ones now.  


My heart is pounding again and my hands feel as if they will slip right off the upholstered arms beneath them as we continue to regard one another.  


“We saw each other after you used the imaging chamber to locate Sam.” She reminds me.  


I manage a small nod. It was true. I had seen them when I was trying to get back to the waiting room, but I was in no frame of mind to be dealing with Sam’s wife so I had back-tracked to the hub for a few minutes and then tried again.  


“So you know Donna had come to investigate?”  


I nod again.  


“I thought it best to prepare her,” she explains. “Talk a little about the changes she would see in Sam before she saw him and she agreed to come to my office for a cup of tea and a chat.”  


She pauses again and I find myself wishing she would just get to the point. So they went to her office for a chat. It wouldn’t be the first time and not likely to be the last. Tea and empathy are standard fare when dealing with the likes of Verbena after all. I shift a little in my chair, feeling tired and uncomfortable. Lifting my right hand from the safety of the armrest I rub at the area between my eyes. I am worn out, as if the day has gone on forever with no view to end in sight.  


Taking the opportunity to wipe my hand on my slacks before returning it to arm of my chair I wait for her to go.  


“After I explained what I could to Donna, she wanted to see for herself,” she continues, “she wanted me to access the closed circuit system Al.”  


I glance briefly at the dark and hardly used screen on the corner of my desk, rueing its instillation and others like it throughout the Project. The security system is top notch and anyone watching at the time would have seen everything. My stomach churns and I feel my cheeks heat but I force myself to return her gaze.  


“In hindsight I probably should have waited, but at the time I didn’t see any harm in Donna seeing what was going on in the waiting room. We saw you Al,” she repeats.  


I shake my head again, not to dispute what she has told me, that at least seems pointless now, but because I still don’t understand why Sam kissed me or why thinking about it afterwards made me hard. The realisation loosens something inside of me though and I feel my anger fade. Any lingering wish to keep denying what happened melting away as I lean forward again. “He’s not himself,” is all I can think to say.  


Verbena’s eyes are sympathetic and I don’t resist as she takes my hands in her small ones once again, stroking gently over the back of my own.  


“No,” she says, but does not elaborate.  


Apparently lost in her own thoughts, I bow my head, wondering as I do why Sam’s coming home filled me with nothing but dread.  


TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See part one for details.

**Verbena**

6th of September, 2000.

Checking the digital display on my computer I scroll to the top of the page I am working on and read over what I have written so far; adding and correcting as I go. 

_It’s been a little over 72 hours since Sam’s return and while I was initially elated to finally have him home, as the hours have slowly stretched into days most of my enthusiasm has waned, replaced now with something that is best described as optimistic caution._

_My original conversation with Al had confirmed that although the man in the waiting room was indeed Doctor Sam Beckett, he was not himself. I admit I was a little unsure to begin with about how I might best support those around me, especially Sam, but for reasons I could not explain I was not surprised by Al’s assessment. During their short interactions it was clear that Sam was anticipating a reception vastly different to the one he had received from our mutual friend. His disappointment palpable to anyone discerning enough to notice as he subsequently withdrew from those trying to help him. There was also something I still couldn’t quite put my finger on, but one aspect remains abundantly clear, the man who had returned to us is not the same one who had left us years before._

_Al seemed to sense it almost immediately, but he has since refused to provide details or spend time with Sam, thereby limiting my ability to further observe them together. He has feigned excessive paper work and meetings with the committee as his excuse. I however have surmised a completely different motive, one that apparently allows the Admiral to avoid his best friend for as long as possible._

_It was not like Al. He would deny it of course, but I know he loves Sam as much as any man can love another, the way he reacted when I spoke about seeing Sam kiss him proved as much. Al could be difficult, his upbringing and some very ingrained behaviours meant that he often avoided discussing his feelings. It is no different when it comes to Sam. Of course what Al doesn’t realise is that when Sam is involved it is more about what he doesn’t say that gives him away every time. There is a bond between the two them. One that began long before they were physically separated to endure the challenges of time and space and I know that whatever secret Al is keeping he is more likely to take it to his grave than willingly share it with me._

_To say that I was suspicious was an understatement, but I know I am not the only one. It is obvious that Donna also suspects that there is something very amiss with her husband. His disinterest in her is almost painful to watch; very different to the exchanges I had witnessed in the past and I know that my friend is worried. I have tried to reassure her that it will be only a matter of time before Sam settles into his old life. He was back; safe after so many years of trying to set right what had once gone wrong and no matter the adjustments we would all have to make it was a relief to know he was once again in his own time, surrounded by those who loved him. The shock and strain on his body were enough to leave anyone feeling out of sorts, but even as I remind her to give him a day or two I wonder just how long it will be before their relationship is damaged beyond repair._

_The tests that had been run upon Sam’s return have all come back within what is considered normal range given his age, including the blood work to identify if in fact he had suffered a heart attack. Kate’s assessment had been that stress and dehydration had contributed to his symptoms, but she could not add any additional light to the situation._

I don’t usually keep notes in this fashion and while it feels more like writing a journal than supplying a record of events, I can’t deny the therapeutic value so far or the growing need I have to have as much as possible in order should the need arise.

Taking a sip of my tea I am immediately taken back by how cold it had grown while I have been working. Swallowing the stone cold liquid I return my cup from whence it came. Checking the time once more I select control-S and close my document and log off. I wait until my monitor goes dark before I turn off the screen and switch off my desk lamp.

It is already after seven and I promised Donna I would drop by tonight.

Pushing away from my desk I retrieve my cardigan from the back of the chair and slip it across my shoulders. I haven’t had a lot of sleep over the last few days and while I want to be supportive I would much prefer to have an early night for a change. Still, friendship and my role here at the Project comes with certain responsibilities and I know I need to keep an eye on what’s happening above ground, and most definitely on Sam.

\----*----

Taking the elevator to the surface I am greeted a short time later as Donna opens the door to the quarters she share with Sam. I haven’t seen my friend for several hours, but it is obvious she has been crying again. Her eyes are red and her usually flawless makeup is less than perfect. I feel the familiar tug of sympathy. God knows the last few days haven’t been easy on any of us, but it is painfully clear that Sam’s wife is suffering.

The look of misery on her face is enough to break my heart. She seems lost; almost as if she had forgotten about my visit, but despite her confusion it is clear that she is very glad to see me. Not waiting for an invitation I step forward, leaning into her as she raises her arms to embrace me, her small body melding against my own. I am not sure what has transpired since we last saw one another and for a few seconds I simply hold her, soothing her gently until she pulls back to usher me inside -- her usual mask of control slipping firmly back into place. 

“It’s been a difficult afternoon,” she offers by way of explanation and then changes the subject entirely. “Tea, Verbena?”

I nod my agreement and Donna disappears in the direction of the kitchen without a backward glance. 

Left to my own devices I waste no time going in search of Sam. Given the limited dimensions of their living space he is not difficult to find. 

A couple of steps take me from the small entranceway to the Beckett’s main living area and Sam is exactly where I had guessed he would be -- sitting on one of the overstuffed sofas, a beer in hand. He looks up as I wander further into the room and take a seat opposite; a thinning veil of grey hair falling over his eyes. He makes no immediate attempt to speak or acknowledge me beyond the steely gaze he fixes me with. I would classify it as accusing, except we have been friends for too many years and I have practicing too long to take first impressions as my final assessment. 

I take a deep breath, drawing my cardigan around my shoulders to guard against the weariness seeping into my bones as I let myself sink into the comfort of the sofa, ready for when Donna returns or Sam decides he wants to communicate. 

We have had a number of discussions over the last couple of days, some official, to appease the funding body and others that had been far less formal, covering topics old and new. For the most part Sam has answered my questions without complaint; usually with short, to the point answers. On occasion he has even offered information about his whereabouts for the last month and half unprompted. To be honest, although I have been thrilled to have his cooperation, very little of what he has told me makes sense. _A bar run by God! Past friends appearing as different people!_ If it were anyone else I would be worried about their mental health. As it was, I still had my concerns.

The thought is enough to send a shiver of urgency through my body even though I know that by coming here after hours I need to let Sam and Donna set the pace of our conversations. 

Sam’s gaze has shifted since I first sat down and while he is no longer regarding me in a way that makes me feel like I was public enemy number one he still hasn’t bothered to remove the hair from his eyes. The length of which seemed to be a concern to everyone other than the man himself. I know that Tina had offered to cut it for him and Donna had made numerous comments about it looking untidy, but to date he has refused each attempt to return him to his former style. It was almost as if he preferred it this way and he had no intention of changing it any time soon, never mind what anyone else thought.

Personally I didn’t think it mattered, but the Sam I remembered would never have challenged the status quo to this level. He would have taken to heart what those around him thought and acted accordingly.

I have no idea what had gone on since I last saw Donna or Sam, but he clearly wasn’t pleased about his current situation. It’s been an underlying theme over the last few days and while he hasn’t come right out and said as much, it didn’t take an expert to see that Donna’s presence in his life was not the happy prospect one would expect from a man who had spent so many years absent from his wife’s side.

I feel torn again; professional responsibility and friendship warring with one another for dominance. I have no doubt that the ongoing battle has attributed to my feelings of fatigue and I know I really just needed to choose a position and stick to it. Especially if I was going to understand what was happening here, and most importantly, why Donna seemed to be such a cause for dissatisfaction in Sam’s eyes. 

Sitting up again, I lean forward. “I can help if you let me Sam.” 

Sam’s focus changes at my words and he finally brushes the hair away from his face -- his eyes meeting my own. “Do you really think that’s possible Verbena?” He sounds unconvinced, but I don’t let it sway me. 

“If you tell me what you need, then yes, I’ll do whatever I can.” 

Despite my wish to support both my friends it seems only fitting that Donna chooses that exact same moment to reappear. 

Sam seems unmoved by the interruption; his gaze following me as I sit back again and then scoot over to make room as Donna sets the tea tray she has brought with her on the coffee table. 

It is only as Donna sets about pouring tea into the two mugs that she has included on the tray that I broaden my own gaze and my eyes fall on the pile of bedding folded neatly on the floor beside the opposite sofa. I can’t say if they were there last time I visited or not and while it is not a revelation as such to discover my friends aren’t sharing the same bed, I am a little surprised that Donna hasn’t mentioned that Sam wasn’t sleeping. Of course there a number of reasons why partners may choose to seek solitude from one another, but considering the people I know I can only imagine that sleep would be the reason given even if I also know their relationship isn’t what it should be. 

“You should have said if you needed something to help you sleep Sam, I would have prescribed a sedative,” I offer. I am attempting to sound casual, but I note Donna stiffen beside me. The mug she has prepared for me held in mid-air as I glance back at her. 

“I sleep fine, Verbena,” Sam remarks, reaching for the fresh beer Donna has included on the tea tray and depositing the empty one in its place.

Donna’s expression tells another story however and I wonder if this is the opening I have been waiting for. 

“It’s not Sam,” she announces, adding as she takes her seat beside me, “It’s been a long time since we lived together and Sam’s just trying to give me my space while we adjust.” 

Everything Donna has said sounds perfectly feasible. Couples who are separated for any length of time generally do need to reacquaint themselves again. It feels a bit rehearsed though, as if she is still trying to provide a front to their situation even though it has become painfully obvious that they are at odds with the circumstances they have found themselves in.

The realisation that Donna maybe purposely trying to dilute the strain between them is unsettling and certainly not what I was expecting. Acceptance of a difficulty was one thing, but pretending none existed was another altogether. 

I look back at Sam. Confused. He appears thoughtful, turning the bottle in his hands absently as he eyes the woman sitting next to me, but not willing it seems to add any more to the conversation at this point. 

It’s all a little strange. The Beckett’s I remember were always supportive of one another, even when Sam was struggling with the retrieval program, locking himself away for days on end and barely speaking to anyone other than Al, but they were also realistic and infinitely honest with each other. 

The air in the room feels heavy. Arduous. As if the effort of simply being present is more than enough to ask. I sip my tea, grateful that it gives me something to do with my hands as I try and work out what has gone on in my absence.  


As for Sam it seems unlikely that he might actually contradict Donna. For the past three days he has done nothing to challenge her perception of the two of them, or the life they shared. A life that many, perhaps everyone here at the Project remember as ideal -- everyone except Sam, I realise. 

It strikes me as odd that Sam seems to be having a very different home coming to the one we had all envisioned and yet I can’t put my finger on why, only that something tells me I need to press the point.

I am well aware that my next question may cause a level of disquiet, but it also appears necessary that I attempt some kind of intervention.

“Is that what you think, Sam? That you and Donna just need time to readjust to living together again?”

I focus my attention on the man sitting opposite, but it is not very long before I note the restless change in the woman next to me. My heart goes out to her as the tension in the room slowly increases. I spare her a quick glance as I lean forward to place my mug on the coffee table, knowing that while this isn’t comfortable for any of us she understands that we need to keep trying to resolve the situation, and then look back at Sam. I am prepared for him to simply agree, tell me that yes; it’s just a matter of time or even for Donna to interject and yet as the moments stretch and silence endures it seems that my enquiry may go unanswered. 

“Sam?” I prompt. 

This is perhaps the most introverted I have seen my friend since his return, but something seems to change, a new determination exerting itself as he lifts his chin and returns my gaze.

“I’m not trying to make this harder,” he starts. “I understand that you’ve waited a long time for me to return, but the last memory I have of you is the letter you sent me the day after we were meant to be married. You said that you couldn’t marry me, you believed that sooner or later I would abandon you as your father had.”

It takes me a moment or two to realise that it’s Donna and not me that Sam is addressing and then several more to absorb what he is saying. He is still talking, but it’s difficult to understand -- something about believing that sooner or later that it wouldn’t work. My first thought is to question what I have heard; have Sam explain what he means, that there is some kind of kind of mistake, but the sharp intake of breath and the sound of Donna weeping beside me makes it clear that we have both interpreted the information in the same way. A part of me thinks that it can’t be possible, but then again, it’s difficult to know for sure.

Over the years Al has eluded to changes that sometimes occur when Sam leaps. I remember a number of occasions when he had likened stepping out of the imagining chamber to playing a game of musical chairs. I recall I had asked him to explain what he meant, but he just shrugged his shoulders and said that when the chamber stopped ‘you just didn’t know who was still going to be here and who wasn’t.’ 

It never made sense and still doesn’t.

Even now I am not sure what I think. If what Sam is telling us relates to Al’s long ago remarks that his leaping through time had a far greater impact than first anticipated or not. Whatever the explanation I watch Sam pause, choosing his words very carefully as Donna slowing falls apart beside me. 

“In the past I remember,” he continues, “we were never married and we never lived together.”

 

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you saying that you have two sets of memories Sam, each pertaining to the same time frame?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See part one for my disclaimer and notes.

**_Sam_ **

Telling Donna that I have memories that don’t coincide with her perfect image of the two of us doesn’t make me feel any better about upsetting her again. Not that I thought it would exactly. Lying to her isn’t helping either one of us though and I know I can’t keep up the pretence any longer. I have seen the wedding photos, listened to her while she told me about the places we have lived, the vacations we have taken together and while I can admit that yes, I remember them, it’s not my life, or at least the one I left behind when I stepped into the accelerator chamber for the first time. I don’t know her and haven’t for many years. Irrespective of the ready supply of evidence, we were never the happy couple she has described to me. 

Verbena’s voice rises steadily above the sound of Donna’s sobbing and I hang my head as she tries to comfort her; still turning the bottle in my hands. I feel like I should do something, make more tea or maybe just get up and leave, but I am pretty sure that walking out wouldn’t be viewed as helpful.

Relations between Donna and I have been strained almost from the beginning and I know I haven’t made much of an effort to change that. I had been too confused and hurt by Al’s reaction to me when she had first appeared at my side to feign interest in her, even though I knew instinctively that’s what was expected of me. I know now that before I leaped home I changed history, my history and for the last three days I’ve been trying to work out why after so many years of setting right what once went wrong for others I have been returned to a life that I can no longer identify with and I don’t want. 

There had been a time when being married to Donna was what I thought I wanted, but that had all changed when she left me waiting at the alter for her, humiliating me in front of our friends and family. Everything changed after that. The way I saw myself; my dreams for the future – everything. It was Al who saved me from myself. I remember he literally picked me up after Donna left, took me back to his place and helped me rebuild my life one piece at a time. I fell in love with him, and tucked away in the far recesses of my consciousness; buried deep now beneath the new memories that have formed since my return, I know he loved me too. 

Just thinking about the life that I once shared with Al is enough to make my chest constrict painfully and my eyes water, my breath catching almost as an afterthought, making it hard to breathe. The feelings stirring inside of me are hard to contain and I struggle to conceal the affect they are having on me. I close my eyes, keeping my head down as my shoulders roll further forward and my body shudders.

I’ve been trying to reconcile seeing Donna again with my feelings for Al for days now, but nothing seems to help. I stop turning the bottle and hold it firmly with both hands; breathing through the emotions still coiling inside of me. Things are different now and I have to keep reminding myself that they are. Knowing something doesn’t make it easier though.

It’s still hard to believe but Al is married to Beth now and they have children, or to comprehend that I have a daughter of my own. I scarcely remember her and yet I recall her mother and the time we spent together. 

It’s all such a mess.

I know Al has also been avoiding me and it’s pretty obvious he either doesn’t remember things the way I do or he doesn’t want to. I’m not sure which. 

I’ve tried to remember my last leap. I have vague memories of seeing Jimmy and Frank again. There were others too, Moe and Don Geno and the guy behind the bar, weird Ernie. I think he was God. I wanted to come home and he said I could, but there was something else I needed to do first; only I can’t recall what is was, or who I spoke with who could have possibly changed everything so much.

Nothing seems to make sense. My head hurts and I feel sick to my stomach.

I don’t want any more to drink and I lean the necessary distance to place the mostly full beer bottle on the coffee table. The tension in the room has been uncomfortable for some time, but is fast approaching unbearable. Donna’s weeping seems to ebb and flow and while getting up and leaving may not be considered helpful it’s what I want to do more than anything right now. 

“I don’t understand.” She is saying and I look up. 

Donna’s face is streaked with tears again and I am once again confronted with the agonising truth of my existence. I have seen her cry a number of times over the last couple of days. In the beginning I know it was because she was happy to see me, but that changed not long after Kate released me into her care. I can’t pretend to love her when all I can think of is being with Al. 

“Explain it to me Sam.” She adds, irritation slowly creeping into her usually even tone, clipping her words as she turns on me.

I flinch a little and open my mouth, attempting to do as she has asked; only to have to close it again a moment later when I realise I don’t know what to say. I have no idea why I have two sets of distinct memories. Why I remember my life with her, but also the one I shared with Al -- if it’s a result of my last leap or if something occurred previously and he decided it was one of those things that I shouldn’t be told? All I do know is that prior to a couple of days ago I hadn’t seen Donna for more than a decade, hadn’t even thought about her more than once or twice during all that time. It is clear however that my silence isn’t helping.

“You can’t just claim something like that and then refuse to explain. Don’t you think I have had an enough to contend with? The other women, a child! I waited every day for you to come home Sam and now all you can do, is sit on the sofa for hours on end drinking beer, denying our life together.”

I flinch again, my back and shoulders tensing as I sit up; surprised by the less than subtle reminder of my faithlessness. I know she is referring to Abigale and Sammy-Jo, but there were others too, Nicole and Tamlyn. 

I remember Donna as a young woman, strong willed and outspoken. The years seem to have reinforced those traits, but they also appear to have given her a shaper edge and like me, she is tired of pretending. 

I glance at Verbena, I’m not sure why. If I am looking for an ally or for answers, but none are immediately forthcoming and I look back Donna, running my fingers through my hair to keep it out of my eyes as I try again. 

“The last few days have been difficult…” I begin. 

“Years, Sam,” she reminds me. “The last five years.” Each word enunciated with such disappointment that it’s hard to hear. 

I feel a wave of guilt wash over me; the weight of the emotion weighing me down and tethering me in place as Donna and I regard one another. I know my leaping through time has changed many lives. I used to think that in most cases it had been for the better. Al had told me very early on that the reason he couldn’t give me details about myself was because I might try to change aspects of my own life. I understood; not straight away, but as time went on, I came to understand that my own life was one that couldn’t be altered. I had to invent Ziggy and Project Quantum Leap had to exist. I know I tried a couple of times, succeeding with Tom but failing to get my father to take better care of himself, but I also know I did my best to focus on what I needed to do, each time hoping that the next leap would bring me home again. Al was waiting for me and hopefully one day he would forgive me for turning our lives into a living nightmare. I feel sorry for Donna, but I am not responsible for what she’s endured. She left me and I moved on. 

There is a stalemate of sorts while Donna continues to hold my gaze until finally Verbena intervenes, breaking the silence and giving me the opportunity to look away.

“If you could explain what you mean Sam, I think that would help us all to understand.” She offers me a small smile; her dark eyes kind and patient as she holds Donna’s hands in her own. 

My memories of Verbena extend far beyond my years of leaping. Not that I remembered her initially. Like so many of the people in my life Al had to remind me who she was and what role she played her at the Project. I recall Doctor Beeks had come highly recommended when we first met and I have always liked her. Regardless of how I feel about my homecoming I know that she means well and that she is trying to help, but I am not sure even she will be able to make sense of what I am about to say. 

I sigh and sit back, surveying the space around me and the women watching my every move. “Before I leaped the first time I lived here alone.” I tell them, and then look at Donna again. Her eyes are very bright and more tears are inevitable I realise; resigning myself to the fact I push on, gesturing as I do to the neatly decorated room. “I know this is hard to understand, but this isn’t my home.”

Two sets of eyes stare back at me as I pause. Donna’s bottom lip is trembling and as expected, tears appear at the corner of her eyes to slide down her cheeks. I want be completely honest with her, clear this up once and for all, but I don’t think she is ready to hear that while the official record registered me as residing alone and Admiral Calavicci as being assigned his own 270 square feet of living space, in reality he spent his time here with me. We were lovers in every sense of the word and while we never made vows to one another in the same way she and I had, I was committed to him all the years we were together. It also seems pointless, especially when everything is so different between Al and I now. 

For a full minute or perhaps a little longer the only response I receive from the other side of the room is a serious of half choked sounds as Donna repeatedly tries to compose herself; eventually giving up the comfort of Verbena’s grasp to retrieve a Kleenex from the sleeve of her blouse to dab at her eyes -- her distress and confusion painful to watch. 

Verbena just looks perplexed, her brows knitted together as her eyes search mine. To her credit she recovers reasonably quickly, pulling herself together as she tugs her cardigan more securely around her shoulders then eases off the sofa. Standing momentarily, I watch as she glances down at Donna to check on her wellbeing; a silent exchange that takes less than a second or two before she is moving again to step around the coffee table to perch on the corner. 

She reaches out to me once she is settled, casually touching my knee to assure my attention; her expression serious when she sits back again. “When we spoke yesterday, you indicated that you and Donna had been reminiscing and I took that to mean that you recalled your life together.” 

The conversation Verbena is referring to had been one of the less formal visits we have had over the last couple of days. Arriving unannounced in the middle of the day she had found me going through an old photo album Donna had given me. “Yes, that’s right,” I reply. 

“But you also remember your life without her, a time when you said she sent you a letter telling you she couldn’t marry you?”

I sigh again, glancing briefly at the woman sitting to her left, but nod in return to my friend’s question. I can see her turning the information over in her mind, trying to comprehend what I have said, wondering no doubt, how any of this is possible. 

“Are you saying that you have two sets of memories Sam, each pertaining to the same time frame?”

I look at Donna again. Her tears have dried and she appears engaged and as curious as Verbena to hear my response. “Yes.” I tell them both. 

Verbena’s brow furrows for a second time. “That’s incredible. Can you tell me about it?”

I’m not sure that I can, though I know I need to at least make an attempt. “I’ll try.” 

I’ve been experiencing what I can only described as mixed messages ever since Donna walked into the waiting room. How to put the phenomena it into words however is probably easier said than done. I take a breath, trying to relax and focus on what I remember about my life prior to Donna’s reappearance.

I close my eyes, shutting out the present and the sights and sounds around me. I think about Al, warmth blooming in my chest as my memories of him take shape, my mind taking me back to when he kissed me for the first time. 

_It's late June 1989, a few weeks after I had received Donna’s letter, I have been staying with him. I can feel the heat of the day, the sweat on the back of my neck. Al’s house had no air conditioning and all the windows were open. I am sitting on the couch in the living room trying to stay cool. He has just gotten home from one of his AA meetings and is talking about what he was going to prepare for dinner. I start to cry, which is ridiculous, because I have been doing so well and he’s been so good to me. It is almost as if everything that has happened to me has caught with me and I can’t hold it in any longer. He sits down beside me to comfort me and starts stroking my hair. It doesn’t feel strange. It fells good, different, but after a while, I’m not sure how long he leans in and kisses me. I recall he tries to shake it off, telling me it's a mistake and it doesn’t mean anything. Two days later I go to Al’s room after he had gone to bed and amongst other things, I kiss him back._

I open my eyes again. The women waiting patiently for me to explain my situation and the memories associated with them pushing everything else aside.

“It feels like having a veil over my memories,” I say, then shake my head, it’s not quite right, but I guess it’s the best analogy I have at the moment. “If I think about the time before, when it was just Al and I building Ziggy and working on the Project together, then everything else fades,” I tell them. “It’s like they still exist, but they happened at another time and they aren’t relevant to the present.” 

I’m not sure I am making any sense and I look from Verbena to Donna and then back again, trying to gauge her reaction. I can tell she is trying to empathise, but other than that it is hard to know. 

“What about when you focus on the present, what happens to the other memories? Do they fade as well, settle somewhere under the veil?” She asks.

“Mostly, it depends on the memory; some seem harder to shift than others.” I know I’m not being very specific, but I need to talk to Al before I say anymore. I have to find out if he’s experiencing the same crossed connection or it’s what I fear most, and he has no memory of what we shared.

Verbena still appears to be considering what I have said. I’m not sure if she believes what I have told her. I know she’s been concerned for me and while she hasn’t come right out and said anything exactly ever since I got back I get the impression that she suspects I’m not playing with a full deck. Of course she’d never be as blunt as that, but basically that’s what it amounts too. I can’t say I blame her but other than just telling her what’s been happening for me I don’t know how to convince her, or anyone else for that matter, that I can’t just pick up the life I have been allotted and get on with it. “Where’s Al?” I chance. “I haven’t seen him for days now and the number I have for him seems to be disconnected.”

If Verbena is taken aback by my change of topic, it doesn’t show. “He’s been in Washington,” she explains. “The committee called an emergency meeting and he had to go.”

I’m not overly surprised that the committee wants to talk to Al. News of my return must have them asking a lot questions and I guess he’s the best one to answer them – still. “Shouldn’t I have gone with him?”

“It’s probably too soon for you to be dealing with Senator Weitzman and the others, but Al’s back now.”

“I need to talk to him Verbena. Please, can you help me?”

“Of course Sam,” she says, fishing her cell from the pocket in her skirt. “The local telco built a new tower a couple of years ago, so that’s probably why the number you have for him no longer works.”

I watch while she locates Al’s number and then hands the phone it to me. She smiles as I lean forward to take it from her, adding. “I’d like to keeping to talking, but I think what you’ve told me is enough for tonight.” Standing next, her gaze drifts to where Donna is sitting and goes on. “We’ll just have a chat while you make your call.”

Taking her cue Donna scoops up the tea tray and stands also. It is clear however that she has no idea what to say to me. 

“Thanks,” I say as they both move to exit the living room. 

It’s not long before I hear their voice emanating from the kitchen and I take a deep breath and press the number displayed for me, mentally adding it to the other new ones I have learnt. 

Al picks up on the second ring and I feel my heart begin to race and my hand shake.

“Bena?”

“No Al.” I close my eyes and duck my head, trying to settle myself. “It’s Sam.”

I tell myself the pause from the other end of the line is because I’ve caught Al off-guard, he was probably in the middle of something and not because he doesn’t want to hear from me.

“Hi kid,” he eventually says. “How’re doing?”

I let out the breath I had been holding. “Okay. I haven’t seen you for a few days and was thinking that maybe we could catch up, maybe tonight or tomorrow?”

There is another pause, shorter this time where I imagine Al rubbing his hand over his face. “Sure Sam.” He sounds tired, I realise. “It’s getting a bit late though,” he goes. “Did Verbena tell you that Weitzman and Bartlett are busting my balls?”

I open my eyes and smile into the phone. “Yes, she did.” The stuck, awkward feeling I have been experiencing unfurls inside of me and I relax against the back of the sofa. 

“Okay, good. Yeah I’ve been in D.C, just got back this afternoon. Beth’s not here. She’s in Chicago with Libby, school just started again and I am here on my own. Tomorrow’s better. You could come by my office around lunch time and I could rustle us up some sandwiches from the canteen if you want.”

“That sounds good. I’ll come down about twelve,” I agree.

“Good, Sam. Hey, I’m beat. Just need to eat something then I’m gonna turn in for the night.”

I hear Al yawn. “Sure,” I tell him. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Sleep well.”

The line goes dead not long after and I stare for untold moments at the small device in my hand, watching as the small light illuminating the screen dulls and then goes dark.

I sit for a couple more minutes, enjoying the solitude for as long as it lasts. It won’t be long now I realise. I will be seeing Al again in a few more hours and then I will know one way or the other if the last five year of trying to get home have been worth it or not.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al and Sam finally talk. Al realises that there are decisions to be made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See part one for disclaimer. No warnings for this chapter.

**_Al_ **

_My office isn’t big enough to swing a cat in, but at least the door locks. My desk on the other hand is just the right size to support Sam as I peel his shirt off and then bend him back over its large solid surface; one leg prompted up on the corner and the other hanging over the side. God, he looks amazing. He moans and squirms as I knead him through his jeans; spreading his legs even more and arching his back to give me better access to him. What I want for us isn’t possible like this, but it doesn’t matter because I don’t think either of us are gonna last long enough for anything too technical anyway. This will have to do, I decide._

_I palm Sam firmly as I slot myself between his legs, my own hard on rubbing against the edge of my work station then reach to capture his mouth. His lips are firm and insistent and I close my eyes as his hands come up to hold my head in place so he can guide our kiss. It feels incredible and for a few moments I allow myself to drown in the sensation of him fucking my mouth with his tongue._

_I know we need to be careful, to be quiet, but the outside world doesn’t seem to care what we want. The phone on my desk starts ringing and I groan against Sam’s mouth, desire and irritation waring concurrently. We try to ignore it; moving together, grinding and sucking on one another in a familiar dance towards completion, but it’s no use…_

The sound of a phoning ringing somewhere in the distance rouses me from the dream I am having. It feels so real. Hot and heavy. I’m in my office with Sam, making out and he’s wound up like a spring, only we get interrupted. I am not sure how long I thought the phone and the dream were one and the same, but I open my eyes and turn my head toward the far side of the bed, and as expected the ringing continues. 

It is still dark and it takes a moment for my mind and body to cooperate. I roll over, stretching; the cold empty space reminding me of the warm body that usually takes up the other side of the bed. Beth’s not here though, she’s staying with Libby while she settles in and I push up and reach out -- and just like some _fucking_ b grade movie the ringing stops as soon as my fingers close around the handset. 

_Shit._

I let my hand fall away and groan into the mattress, doing my best to ignore the fact that I’m hard and the remnants of my dream are still pulling at the edge of my consciousness. 

The phone call was probably from the hospital, I figure. Someone’s come on shift and forgotten that Beth is still on vacation.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. The sheets on Beth’s side of the bed are cool against my cheek and I lay where I am for a few moments just letting my eyes become accustomed to the dark. My dick is starting to demand attention though, which is ridiculous; I haven’t woken up hard for God knows how long. Still there is no denying it and I reach down to adjust myself, just for comfort sake, I tell myself; instinct compelling me to grind against the solidness of the mattress I remember choosing years before with my wife. I do my best to resist, but who am I kidding. It’s been so long that I don’t even remember the last time I got off and I bare down, my erection seeking and finding the friction it needs. Between Beth’s schedule and Sam being MIA for the last few weeks’ sex has been well and truly off the agenda. I don’t want to think about how screwed up this is and I groan again.

Balling my fists and stilling my movement’s works about as well as you would expect, which is not very well. I yawn and roll over again, ignoring the ache between my legs the best I can. 

I have no idea what time it is, but it’s got to be early I decide, reaching for my cell on the other side of the bed. Locating my cell I yawn again and hold it up so I can see the small display. I blink and squint. The tiny numerals tell me its 4:38am. Jesus, fucking Christ. Who calls at half past four in the morning? There are no missed calls and I breathe a sigh of relief. If it was Beth she would have called my cell and not the landline. I scroll through my call log. The last one listed was hours ago from Verbena, only it wasn’t Verbena, I remind myself; it was Sam using her phone to contact me. 

I sigh again and return my phone to the side table. I know he’s not doing too well. Verbena is worried. Hell, we all are. We still don’t know what happened to him and I haven’t been around in the last couple of days to find out what Ziggy thinks. Not that I’m in any hurry to have Sam’s computer tell me that my best friend has come back with his brain scrambled. I guess we always knew it was a possibility. The longer Sam leaped the higher the risk that something would go wrong. The way he has been acting isn’t his fault though. We’ve been sharing neurons long enough to know that his leaping around in time has messed with both our lives. He’s just confused and if I am going to be perfectly honest, he’s not the only one.

My dream along with discomfort between my legs has faded somewhat, but their lingering presence only serves to add to my own confusion. Sure, I’ve dreamt about Sam before. There’s even been a few sex dreams over the years, but that was while he was leaping and I put them down to the various situations he found himself in. I talked to Verbena about it but I know she doesn’t remember. Usually after Sam changes something no one remembers what it was like before except me and then only for a few weeks. If it relates to Sam or me directly the memories for both pasts remain for much longer, lapping over one another and causing havoc from time to time. Sam’s wife is a perfect example. Sometimes she’s here and other times she’s not. Jesus, it’s a pain in the butt is what it is and for the most part I have just learned to live with it. 

This is different. Donna appears to be a permanent fixture these days and Sam’s home now and I sure as hell shouldn’t be dreaming about wanting to fuck him. There is no reason for it. Even as the thought takes shape I know that’s not true. There are plenty of reasons, a decade or more of them, I just don’t want to think about them. 

I scrub at my face, trying to dislodge the cobwebs clinging to my awareness then glance around the room; barely making out the drapes and furniture that symbolise a life time very different to the one I imagined for myself only weeks ago. 

Focusing on the here and now doesn’t help and I puff out a breath; at last surrendering to the other memories I have, the ones I know can’t be avoid any longer. 

There is a time line, some ten years in duration when Donna didn’t marry Sam as planned and he and I became lovers. We had it all. I kept up my reputation for being a womaniser to help cover for us, but it was always Sam I came home to. I never cheated on him. I loved him and would have done anything to keep him safe. When Beth and the girls showed up I could still remember my existence without them. I didn’t understand at first and it took me a couple of days to work out what he had done. We searched every day for him, but the life I had once shared with him seem to recede into the background as the days went on and I settled into learning what it was like to be a husband and a father for the first time. We became a family, the family I never had. I thought that was what he wanted for me and that he was never coming home. 

We don’t have any information about where Sam leaped after I caught up him in Cokeburg Pennsylvania. Ziggy located him a short time later somewhere in California, but we couldn’t get a lock on him and then there was nothing until he showed up here four days ago. Considering that Beth appeared around the same time we lost track of Sam I suspect that was when he returned to San Diego and talked her out of taking up with the guy she was planning to marry when I was declared missing during my last tour of Nam.

I’m not sure what made him do it. He’d been pretty down during the last leap and he wasn’t making whole lot sense when we spoke, but I can’t think of anything that suggested he could actually control where he leaped or that he would choose the one aspect of my life that I had come to terms with years ago, especially when there were tens of thousands of others who needed his help more. 

Just thinking about why and how Sam changed both our lives so dramatically is enough to make my head hurt. I don’t go back to sleep and spend the last couple of hours before the sun comes up to bathe the room in light contemplating the choices I know I am going to have to make. 

\----*----

I have spent my entire life adhering to one set of rules or another and I am heartily grateful that the importance of routine has been drummed into from an early age when I finally pull myself out of bed and greet the new day. Knowing what I need to do without question gives me purpose and direction. I don’t need to think about it, I just do what has to be done and get on with it. I eat breakfast and shower without any interference from the memories that won’t be dismissed now that I have given them free rein to rise to the surface and it is only as I am getting ready to leave for the Project that I am once again confronted with the problems associated with letting myself remember my life with Sam.

I am pulling up the bed when a memory of him helping me in the past comes to mind. 

He’s grinning at me, giving me that secret smile he has. It’s shy and sexy and only I know what it means. The night before had be special for both of us. It was the first time he had let me fuck him. For me it had been about hitting third base, but for Sam he had given himself over to me completely, body and soul. It had been very different to what I expected and I remember thinking what an idiot I was for not realising how much it would mean to him.

I feel my chest tighten as I stare mindlessly at the apparition of my much younger lover smiling at me from the other side of the bed I now share with my wife. It’s not real, I tell myself, just another memory, but with my meeting with Sam only hours away it’s too much to deal with and I find myself turning where I stand to sit down. 

I bury my head in my hands. I have no idea what I’m going to do. Sam’s coming to see me today and I know he’s going to want to talk about us. God, he kept asking me if I _remembered_ when he leaped home, only I didn’t want to acknowledge what it meant. I rub my hands over my face then rake my fingers through my hair. It’s all such a fucking mess. I didn’t want to hear what Sam was saying because I wanted to keep living the life he had given me. I still do, but I’m not sure that’s going to be possible.

The feeling of dread I have experienced intermittently since Sam’s return follows my steps as I finish up at the house and then drive to the Project. My absence over the last couple of days has meant that I have a pile of paper work waiting for me when I arrive, not to mention the report the committee wants by the end of the week.

I organise for sandwiches and coffee to be brought to my office at mid-day and get started. I make pretty good progress too and by the time there is a knock on my door I am well on my way to catching up what I need to do. While the interruption is not unexpected the realisation that the morning has slipped by without me noticing leaves me feeling decidedly ill prepared for my meeting with Sam.

My mouth goes dry as I glance first at the closed door and then shift my focus to the framed photograph of Beth and the girls sitting on the corner of my work station; my heart skipping a beat and my hand trembling as I put down my pen and close the file I am working on. Setting the folder aside I swallow over the lump rising in my throat. Frankly I don’t know what I am worried about. Sam and I have been friends for a long time, surely we can listen to what the other has to say without me thinking the worst. In theory I know that should be the case and yet as I push back from my desk and stand up my legs feel less than steady. 

There are voices outside now; one is clearly recognisable, the other less so. I call out to come in and a moment later the door swings open.

Sam appears first, his eyes lighting up as they meet mine briefly. I feel my chest constrict and my breath catch as I take in the sight of him, but it is not to last. He is not alone. Looking past him as he steps forward I realise that he is being closely followed by one of the girls from the canteen. She’s a tiny thing, barely coming up to Sam’s shoulder and clearly struggling with the burden she is carrying. 

“Hello Admiral.” She beams once she is admitted and I move to take the tray she has with her. “Angie sent me down with your lunch order,” she informs me. 

My office would make a great cupboard and juggling for space has always been an issue, especially when there is more than just me here. Sam thankfully has the presence of mind to make room on my desk and I turn around and put the tray down. Patsy, according to her name tag carefully edges up beside me as soon as I have and I am once again forced to move out of the way so that she can unload what she has brought for us in the area provided. 

“Thanks.” I tell her when she is finished. The tray now folded under her arm. 

“You’re welcome Admiral. Angie said to tell you that she has added something extra for dessert and she doesn’t want to hear any arguments about you watching your waistline.”

I feel myself colour. Sam is grinning at me from his spot pressed up against my filing cabinet. Angie comes from the old country and still thinks that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. She is also a terrible flirt. I pull at my collar and smile at the young woman awaiting my reply. “Tell her I wouldn’t dream of arguing with her.” 

Patsy returns my smile. “Okay, I will.” She returns, then slips through the open door of my office and disappears down the short corridor without a backward glance.

I close the door once she has gone, chuckling a little to myself as I lean against it. 

Who’s Angie,” Sam inquires. 

I wave his question away. “Don’t ask.” 

“Okay.” 

I watch as he pushes away from the wall next; a shy smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he takes the necessary steps to bring him within arms-reach of where I am standing. I almost feel like I need to back up, but with the door behind me there is nowhere to go. There is slow heat blooming behind my ribs as the mood in the room goes from relaxed to intense in a matter of seconds and I have to force myself to focus on the here and now. I swallow awkwardly. 

He looks better than the last time I saw him that’s for sure. Less worn and tired. He is also clean shaven, but his hair is still long and I have to resist the urge to brush the few strands that has fallen across his eyes out of the way, my hands literally twitching at my side as we regard one another. 

“You look good,” I tell him. Then find myself enveloped by Sam’s long arms as he pulls me into a hug. 

It feels good and I hug him back; balling my fists around the back of his neck and holding on for dear life. There have been many times when the years of separation have felt never-ending, impossible to sustain and more often than I want to admit, too much to bear. Having him home, alive and back in my arms used be something I only ever let myself fantasise about and it is not unexpected that the dam inside of me gives way. Standing chest to chest I squeeze him tight. God it’s been so long, I had almost forgotten what it was like to hold him and to be held by him and for a few minutes I let myself remember all the things I know I shouldn’t.

Right or wrong I also know that I can’t indulge indefinitely. I don’t want to give Sam the wrong idea; I can’t let myself forget the life I have now. Pulling back is hard, but as time stretches on I force myself to withdraw and push him away. Thankfully he doesn’t put up much of a fight and lets me go. 

We are both trembling.

“I’ve missed you Al,” he says; his eyes bright with emotion. 

My office feels smaller than usual and I rub the back of my neck. “Missed you too Sam.” My voice catches and I compel myself to move; shaking off the ghost from the past as I step around him to where our lunch is waiting. 

“I don’t know about you kid, but I’m starving.” 

He joins me at my desk and together we survey what has been provided.

“You choose Sam.”

I watch as he picks the tuna fish, no surprises there and I smile as he seats himself in my visitors chair and starts eating. Regardless of Angie’s best efforts the canteen food is pretty terrible, but Sam doesn’t seem to mind. 

I slip around to sit at my desk, relieved to be sitting down again and tuck into the pastrami on whole-wheat. For a few minutes we talk around mouthfuls of sandwiches and sips of coffee. Mostly about mundane things, my trip to Washington, which I rather not talk about and how Sam is finding life now he is home. He doesn’t give a lot of detail, just says he’s okay, glad to be home and I don’t press him. It feels natural, normal, just two buddies catching up until I ask him about Donna and I immediately realise my mistake. His face pales and his gaze drift to some point on the desk separating us.

“She has gone to Destiny for a medical appointment.”

He sounds flat and I am at a loss as to know what to say. Despite the rough start he had I thought he would be pleased to have Donna in his life once he got used to the idea. I don’t want to start pre-empting anything, but he doesn’t sound too happy. I’m not sure what it means or how I feel about it. “Well I hope everything is okay.”

“I’m sure it will be.” He replies, but doesn’t offer anymore to the subject.

We finish up our lunch. I let Sam have both pieces of pie. I have had enough carbs for one day and he’s always had a sweet tooth anyway. When he’s done I place the empty cups and wrappers in the waste paper bin then get up to retrieve some water from the cooler. 

“Do you want some Sam?” I ask, holding one of the paper cups aloft. 

He twists in his seat and regards me over one broad shoulder. “No thanks.” He returns, and I fill the cup I have extracted from the dispenser and take it back to my desk, aware that Sam is tracking my movements. 

He leans across the expanse separating us when I sit down again; his elbows resting on the solid edge and I watch as he seems to swallow hard. 

“I want to talk about us Al.” He announces. 

Even though I have known all along that Sam would want to discuss our relationship uncertainty curls in my gut and I feel my stomach knot. Avoidance, I decide is my best option. “I’m not following you kid. We’re pals, always have been, always will be I hope.” I take a sip of my water and offer him a small smile, not giving him room to disagree. 

Sam doesn’t disagree; why would he. Our friendship is what has kept us both going. He bows his head, just for a moment before he looks up at me again. “That’s not what I mean,” he says. 

A lull in conversation follows and I struggle not to fill the air with mindless chatter. I know he is waiting for me to ask him to explain, but I can’t. No good can come from messing with the changes he has made. 

I wonder though, if it is already too late. 

It is obvious that Sam isn’t buying my act. He sighs and his eyes narrow.

“When I leaped for the first time Donna wasn’t here and neither was Beth. She had you declared dead when you went missing in action in 1969. I know you loved her Al, but she moved on and you had to too. Donna and I were meant to married, but it never happened. She couldn’t go through with it and you and I became involved.” 

I shake my head as Sam talks. The tension in the room increasing tenfold. I know the history he is referring to, but it’s irrelevant now and I don’t need to be reminded of it. I finish my water and throw the cup in the wastepaper bin at my feet. I know where this is leading and I don't like it.

“Do you remember the night I came into your room after she dumped me?”

There is a lot of bitterness in Sam’s voice and I can’t say I blame him. It was a hard time for him, for both of us. I shake my head again, doing my best to feign ignorance.

“I do,” he goes on, not happy that I am not sharing in his trip down memory lane. “I remember you telling me that you loved me.”

I shrug my shoulders like it’s no big deal. “Of course I love you Sam, you’re my best friend.” 

I know I am pushing my luck. The way Sam is regarding me makes it clear that he’s not going to give up easily. In spite of my ongoing bravado I am finding it increasingly difficult to maintain eye contact with him and I glance away, then push back in my chair to give myself more room to breathe. 

Stretching my legs out under my desk I look over at him again. His eyes are very bright now and I know he is getting desperate.

“You told me you were in love with me that night Al, and then you made love to me on the floor of your room. The bed was to narrow and you pulled the covers off so we had more space. Are you going to tell you don’t remember that either?”

 _Jesus_ , Sam. I can’t’ look at him any longer and I rub my hands over my face. My heart is thumping widely in my chest, my hands shaking. “Things are different now.”

“Not for me, Al. For me it’s the same as when I left. I don’t want to be with Donna. I know there was a time when I thought she was what I wanted, but after she left you showed me a part of myself that I never knew existed. The part that belongs to you Al.”

 _Fuck._ The kid has always had a way of cutting to the heart of any matter and I lower my hands. There are no words to describe how I feel, what his statement means to me and I know I am fighting a losing battle; my brain just hasn’t caught up yet. 

Sam is watching me from the other side of the desk; his eyes slowly filling with tears. He sits back in his seat as the moment between us passes; his shoulders slumping. “Tell me you don’t remember making love to me, that you don’t love me.”

I open mouth, planning to do exactly that only to realise that I just can’t. As much I know I need to stop this now; to make it clear to Sam that we cannot go back, the words necessary to do so stall on my tongue, refusing to be spoken. While it might be easier to pretend that I don’t remember, it is obvious that he is suffering. 

I have always found it difficult to see Sam in pain, even in the early days before he started leaping I couldn’t stand it. I guess it’s because I can’t bear the thought that anyone would hurt him. I run a hand over my face again and pinch between my eyes. Everything feels completely fucked. Nothing about my life is easy so I don’t know who I am trying to protect here or what I think I am going to achieve. I make mistakes and sometimes the people I love get hurt no matter what I do. 

He is still watching me, silently pleading with me to answer him and something inside of me fractures and let’s go. It’s the last shreds of my resolve I realise. I spare a fleeting glance in the direction of the photo of Beth and the girls. I love them, I truly do, but denying I love Sam is like saying I don’t need air to breath. It’s pointless. 

I get up and come out from behind my desk again without really thinking about what I am doing. My knees feel like they are made of rubber so I prop myself up on the edge, crossing my feet at the ankles and folding my arms across my chest. Sam bows his head as I settle myself beside him, his hair falling over his face; his entire body trembling as he tries to keep his pain in check. I know he is crying and I have to fight the urge to simply take him in my arms. It’s hard to see, to hear his heart breaking and for a moment or two I don’t know what to do. I’m afraid again, terrified in fact, of fucking this up.

I clear my throat and swallow the lump that is threatening to render me mute. “I remember a completeness that I had not known before or since,” I tell him. 

Sam’s head comes up, surprised as I am by my words. Eyes bright and hopeful. “Al?”

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Al take some time just for themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See part one for the disclaimer.

**_Sam_**

Having played a key role in the original design and a somewhat secondary one in the installation of the Project’s security system I am fully aware that no matter where I go within the confines of the main building it is impossible to avoid being seen. Ziggy’s eyes and ears are everywhere, but explaining my current location is a concern for another time, I decide. Some decisions can’t be put off and I have no intention of turning back now.

I spare the camera at the end of the short corridor a cursory glance as I use the pass card Al has given me and let myself into his quarters. There is a light on in the small kitchenette and another emanating from the bedroom. 

I call out, announcing my arrival and head towards the light. The door is ajar and I hear water running as I draw closer. 

“Al,” I say again, pushing the door open.

The bathroom is off the bedroom and I find the man I am looking for in front of the vanity, shaving for what I imagine is the second time today. He looks up as I approach, my lips curving into a smile as I take in the sight of him. His has obviously just showered. His back is still damp in places and he has a towel slung around his narrow hips. He returns my smile as I drop a kiss to his bare shoulder and slide an arm around his waist, his skin made warm and inviting by the hot water. 

“Careful,” he warns, indicating the razor against his cheek. “I am pretty sure you don’t want me to cut myself.”

I don’t of course and I place another kiss to the side of his neck then back off. Giving Al space to finish I let my eyes travel over his back and towel clad backside, impressed that he would go to this amount of trouble for us to be together. 

“Sorry,” I tell him.

Reaching for the buttons on my shirt I slip each open; watching Al’s expression in the mirror as I slowly remove my shirt. He gives me a look that says he doesn’t believe me; his eyes rolling in a way that defies anything I could say aloud.

Not in the least ashamed and unable to hide my grin I turn away to survey the bedroom. The bed takes up most of the space. Neatly made, it appears not to have been used for some time. Seven weeks at least I realise, considering the time I have been told I was missing and then adding the days I have been home. There is chest of draws in one corner and a chair in the other. A clock radio and a small lamp set upon a solitary bedside table provides the only light. I can’t imagine Al here, alone for all the years I had been gone and something inside of me twists and tightens, making it hard to breathe. I close my eyes. Trying without a great deal of success to push away the isolation and desperation trapped within the few square yards of living space.

I take a breath and let it out slowly. Neither of us was alone anymore and while I am sure how exactly, I know that we will find a way through the complications my leaping has caused. Coming here today was the first step towards creating the life we wanted. 

Taking a seat on the bed I remove my shoes and socks and push them out of the way. I hear the water stop a moment later and Al reappears, his face now free of foam. Clean shaven and appearing very much like a man with a great deal on his mind. Leaning against the door frame, his arms folded across his chest he looks pensive. I return his gaze. The reality of what we are about to do feels very real now.

“The bathrooms free,” he announces. 

I know it’s meant to sound casual, but there is something else that speaks of careful and considerate calculation. Something that says I should take heed. I feel my heart pound within the confines of my chest and my skin flush under his scrutiny. Suddenly self-conscious I am reminded that although I have wanted this since my return there is much more to consider than just me wanting back what I had before I leaped. 

Following Al’s invitation to meet him I hadn’t really thought beyond getting here. Being with him again has haunted my every waking moment since my return and to be honest I was so relieved to have him finally acknowledge that he remembered and still wanted me that I had made the necessary excuses for the rest of the day and come straight here. Very aware that Beth was away and Donna wouldn’t be back for hours I had made the best of the opportunity and left everything else to chance, trusting that Al would understand. 

My oversight is clear now, but I don’t apologise. Standing up again, my hands go to my belt. Unbuckling it without looking away from Al I unzip my jeans and I step forward. He doesn’t automatically move aside, but stops me with a hand to my chest. Fingers splaying to tease briefly at one exposed nipple before he leans up to kiss me. It is no more than a press of lips, barely an echo of what we had shared in his office and what I know we will enjoy again very soon, but it’s sweet and full of promise; a reminder from the past that catches us both by surprise with how much it awakens. We linger in the door way, breathing the same air. 

“Don’t be long,” he tells me.

I nod in return, forcing myself to cross the threshold from one room to the next. Stripping off my jeans and underwear I leave both items on the floor in the bathroom and step under the shower. The hot water feels good and I contemplate my own preparations, wondering what Al has in mind. I resist the urge to pre-empt him or expect that everything will be the same as before. Whatever happens I know he will take care of us both in his own time. Just thinking about the various possibilities however sends blood rushing to my groin. I close my eyes, my cock swelling in my hand. I stroke myself a couple of time then rinse and turn off the water. 

The light in the bedroom has been extinguished by the time I emerge from the bathroom. The bed has been turned back and Al has gotten under the covers. 

Memories of finding him in a similar pose come to mind and my body reacts further to the welcome sight. In the time-line I remember we haven’t been together for five years and all I can think now is no matter what we do, how many times he lets me come here, it won’t ever make up for the time we have lost. 

I drop the towel I have used to dry myself with by the bed and slide in next to him.

Al reaches for me the moment I join him and I roll to meet him in the middle. Our legs tangling to make space for the other as we move to mould our bodies together. There is so much to categorise; the sound of his breathing, the smoothness of his caress, the warmth of his skin against my own. I feel a little light-headed, as if this isn’t real and maybe I am dreaming. It’s good, but not enough at the same time. Strong hands lift to frame my face, holding me in place when he finally kisses me. Gently at first but with a growing urgency as our stolen moments become minutes. My mouth and neck are explored, sucked and licked. It is almost if he trying to brand me. To remind me of who I am when we are together and I don’t fight it. I close my eyes while his hands and mouth trace a well-known path. Mapping my body in ways he must know will make me ache and moan under his touch.

Al is the only man I have been with and something about the way that he treats that brings back some of what I had experienced the first time he took me to bed. Thankfully hushed words chase away my long forgotten fears.

“I won’t hurt you,” he promises and just like the first time I know it’s true.

Lube and condoms are produced and I move as I am guided, letting myself be caressed and tasted; submitting in ways I never thought I would allow. It is different with Al; it always has been. When we started together it was as if he had awakened something inside of me that I would never have thought possible and I know now is nothing to be ashamed of. I surrender without question. 

In the end Al takes me on my knees. It is what we both want and my head and shoulders are lowered to mattress to give him the leverage he needs. His careful and prolonged preparation making little difference as he breaches me and I struggle to breathe. It’s been so long, even with all his care. I shudder and shake, praying to a God I am not sure I believe in anymore to give me strength. I close my eyes and ball my fists until finally Al’s infinite perseverance is rewarded and he becomes a solid and welcome presence inside my body. I lift my head and arch my back when he is fully seated, glorying in the moment as Al strokes down my spine. His hand finding its way to where we are joined and the skin is pulled taut. Just the thought of him touching me is enough for me to bend again, offering him full access.

Not to be rushed Al waits for me to adjust and it is only when he is assured that I am ready does he pull out and then thrust back in again; gripping my hips in a way that I know will leave me with some explaining to do if I am not careful. It feels incredible, mind-altering. The smells and sounds of our love making assail my senses, loosening any remaining inhibitions and setting me on a path of untold pleasure as he moves inside of me. It’s far better than I remember and I revel in how it makes me feel being with him again as he moves behind me, steering us both towards completions.

The position provides the perfect angle for him to graze my prostate each time he strokes inside of me and I am given no other choice than to use one of the pillows to cover the sounds torn from my throat when he reaches the point of no return and his thrusts become far from gentle. 

My shoulders ache and tears sting my eyes by the time Al reaches around to take me hand, stripping me of the last of my control with just a few pulls of his wrist and some of the most wanton encouragement I have ever heard. I bury my face in the pillow, stifling my cry of triumph as he ensures my satisfaction and I spend myself all over his hand. It seems to go on forever, Al soothing me through each wave; his declarations of praise and appreciation not faltering until the end. 

He falls quiet then, his breathing ragged as he focuses on his own control until I note him wipe his hand on the sheet and take hold of my hips once again. My body is still shaking uncontrollably, my knees threatening to give way but somehow I manage to maintain my position as he forces himself impossibly deep and then shudders through his own orgasm. 

Reverence fills me as he empties himself inside of me. Like Al, it is as close to completion as I have ever known and I accept what he shares with me gladly. The sound of his release echoes off the concrete walls around us; his strong arms grounding us both throughout the onslaught. Years of longing, of pain and regret finally set free. 

By the time it is over we are both panting, our energy depleted to the point that there is nothing left to give or to hold us up. I feel him lean forward; becoming a warm weight against my back and my legs finally do give way. Al follows me down to the mattress, maintaining the connection between for as long as he can. It is not to last of course. He is no light weight and neither of us can forestall the inevitable. Within moments I feel him deplete further and slip from my warmth. I flinch as he pulls out and settles at my side. I can barely move, but I lift my head and turn to face him. My vision blurred and my mouth dry. He runs a hand through my hair, scraping it out of my eyes. Even with light from the bathroom it is too dark to see him properly, but I have no doubt to his serious expression.

“Are you okay Sam?”

I lick my lips and manage a somewhat choked _yes_ as confirmation and thankfully it seems to be enough to reassure him. A kiss is pressed to my forehead and a strong arm wrapped around my shoulders, holding me close. I close my eyes. I am far better than just okay, but I have neither the breath nor the words to tell him so just yet. My heart is still racing and in spite of the enduring elation my limbs feel as if they are made of lead. Honestly, I don’t think I could move right now even if my life depended on it.

I note Al withdraw after a moment or two and I open my eyes again to watch as he rolls away and reaches for something from beside the bed. He holds up a towel and I realise it must be the same one he had been wearing earlier. It is still damp in places and I lay where I am, prolonging my recuperation as he uses it to wipe me down and then encourages me to turn over so that he can finish. 

Al is incredibly patient, which I know it a bit of a contradiction. He is not exactly known for his patience and yet I find myself cared for in a way that I have never experienced before or considered providing to a lover. It surprises me. Not because it’s Al, more that it is a side of him that I have never seen before. 

His task complete Al moves up the bed to straddle my hips and to kiss me once more. It is slow and tender and I reach for him, not wanting it to end when he pulls back.

“I’m going to get some water,” he explains. “Do you want some?”

I do and I nod then release him begrudgingly, earning myself a smile and another quick peck on the lips before he steps off the side of the bed and disappears in the direction of the kitchen. I yawn and stretch, indulging in the moment. I know Al and I need to talk. I am not so naive to think that everything can be solved in one afternoon, even if it has included the best sex I have had in years. I am too comfortable to deal with what we are going to do next. Just being with him again makes me feel as if anything is possible. The sky’s the limit and everything else is just details that we haven’t worked out yet. 

Al is only gone for a minute or so and I sit up when he returns to accept the glass of water he has brought me. He takes a seat on the side of the bed as I drain the content and hand it back to him. My eyes have adjusted some and I watch as Al carefully places the glass on the bedside table, fumbling as he appears to search for something in the minimal light. 

I lean back, propping myself up on my elbows to get a better look at what he is doing. “Is something wrong?” I inquire. 

Al shakes his head no. “I need to sleep,” he tells me. Pausing whatever he is doing with the clock radio to glance over his shoulder at me. “I’m beat Sam.” He explains. “I just need a little shut eye is all.”

“Okay,” I return.

I’m not sure what time it is, but I take it that Al thinks we have the luxury of a few hours’ rest before the reality of our lives demand our participation once more and I lay back down; more than happy to defer to his better judgement. 

Satisfied with his preparations Al draws the now rumpled covers up over both of us and settles beside me, his head on my shoulder, his feet tangling with my own. The warmth of his body a welcome reminder of our re-found intimacy and I yawn again. Content for the first time in five very long years.

Neither of us it seems is up for conversation and the last I register is Al’s breathing calm and level out.

TBC


End file.
